I am a person who does not enjoy being inside. "Go outside and get some roses in your cheeks", mum would tell me. So it seems to be these days; I crave the fresh air and it seems to do me good. This morning I sat out on the patio in the snow as I ate my breakfast: Four slices of toast, two more than yesterday, liberally covered in Marmite and washed down with a mug of tea.
Watching the cross racing at Herne Hill this afternoon, I could scarcely believe that only 48 hours ago I was a mewling, puking mess. The nausea has subsided and while I still feel a little queasy and a touch woolly-headed, I'm almost back to normal. I felt woeful after the treatment on Friday but I am getting stronger. I know that a few more chemotherapy cycles down the line, I may not bounce back so fast.
The fabulous bastion of London cycling, John Mullineaux remarked that I now have a road map. I have several mountains to climb and most of them hors categorie, but I can follow my route to its end. This afternoon I didn't even feel that I've hit the foothills and was pleased to cheer on the riders and enjoy the racing.