When the Sun Shows Up… and My Body Doesn’t

After what feels like an eternity of rain, seriously, from December through to April with barely a dry spell worth mentioning, you’d think the first decent day of sunshine would be a triumphant return to form. A cinematic training montage moment. Cue uplifting music, perfect pacing, and a strong finish. Naturally, that’s not what happened.

The weather did finally cooperate (mostly). The wind, while still making its presence known, wasn’t the full-force, soul-snatching beast it had been the day before. The sun was out. Spirits should have been high.

Instead, my body decided it was the perfect day to stage a full-scale rebellion.

I’ve got a lovely little monthly “window” where I’m more prone to a fibromyalgia flare, and, because timing is everything, it picked today. Not yesterday with the gale-force winds. Not one of the countless rainy days where expectations were already low. No. Today. The golden opportunity day.

And when a flare hits, it doesn’t politely tap you on the shoulder. It flattens you.

Wheeling didn’t just feel difficult, it felt borderline impossible. My usual pace, which has been holding strong even in rough conditions, completely vanished. What’s normally a steady, controlled effort turned into a slow, stubborn grind. We’re talking a drop from consistent marathon pacing of around 10-12km/h to something that felt like dragging myself through very thick treacle at 6–7 km/h… on a good stretch.

Oh, and just to add a bit of chaos to the mix: relentless exhaustion. The kind where your body tries to shut down mid-stride. Not metaphorically, literally. Endless micronaps while moving. Blinking through corners hoping you’re still in the right lane. It’s as fun as it sounds (it isn’t).

I started around 9:30am. By 2pm, I was still going. Still not finished. A marathon that should’ve wrapped up ages ago just… didn’t. Not because of lack of effort, if anything, it took more effort than usual just to keep moving.

That’s the strange part. The desire to do the event, to push, to perform, it’s all still there. But the body? Completely disconnected from the plan. And it’s never just one thing, is it?

There’s the ongoing allergy saga, daily antihistamines, mystery triggers, and a strong suspicion that one particular hormone and a pain killer were staging their own internal protests (three tests, three identical reactions… not exactly subtle). Swapped it out, things improved… slightly. Still not perfect.

There’s the sinus infection that refuses to take the hint and leave, despite multiple rounds of antibiotics. Now on the strongest course, which, unsurprisingly, doesn’t exactly make you feel like a high-performance athlete. Next port of call, IV antibiotics in hospital!

There’s sleep, or rather, the complete lack of it. Waking up six or seven times a night, followed by long stretches of being wide awake at the worst possible hours. Not ideal when you’re stacking endurance sessions back-to-back.

And then there’s nutrition. The constant balancing act of trying to refuel properly after burning through thousands of calories. Testing new recovery drinks, adjusting protein intake, attempting (and mostly failing) to hit the kind of numbers that look great on paper but feel borderline impossible in practice. All of it layering together. Individually manageable. Collectively… less so.

But here’s the thing: I’m still going. Not gracefully. Not at my best. But consistently.

Today wasn’t a success in the traditional sense. It was slow, frustrating, and honestly a bit ridiculous. Being asleep for an entire training session, whilst still moving, isnt a skill I ever thought I would master, but it was progress in a different way, the kind that doesn’t show up in pace stats or finish times. It showed up in stubbornness. In refusing to stop, even when stopping would’ve been entirely justified.

In adapting on the go, writing (dictating) this mid-session just to stay awake, just to keep moving forward (literally and figuratively).

There’s about 6 km left as I speak this. It’s not going to be pretty. It’s definitely not going to be fast. But it will get done.

And sometimes, that’s the real win.

Next week, I take a proper break, the first in over seven months. No surgeries forcing recovery this time, just a deliberate pause. Honestly? It’s overdue.

Because as much as I’d love every wheel to feel like that perfect sunny-day scenario, the reality is far messier. And far more human.

Still… if the weather and my body could at least try to cooperate next time, that’d be great!