After a few days of jet-lag, I'm just about getting back up to speed with the world here back in London, a feat that's been double hard thanks to the fact that there is just so much ar y gweill at the moment. Work is busy, PhD viva soon, and I am preparding for the move to Spain, both professionally and logistically. The upshot of it is that play time is in short supply at the moment yet, as I have said before, all work and no play makes Alun a dull boy.
Recently, play-time has been split between climbing and capoeira, but I'll be honest the situation hasn't been ideal. I have reached the 'first peak' in capoeira - I can confidently step into the roda and play a simple game, and enjoy and appreciate and enjoy a good game when played by others. Yet rather than being happy about this, it's actually a little daunting: I've scaled the first peak, only to see the huge mountain range ahead, and realised just how much hard training is required to scale those mountains.
The mountaineering allegory is a good one, because it leads back to climbing. I realised last night, when riding home from the wall (or rather, the pub next to the wall), that climbing is still my number one. It is what inspires me and motivates me, drives me and pleases me. Because of capoeira, my climbing has suffered over the last few months, and I'm not happy about it. I have realised that I have to dedicate to one or the the other - trying to do both means that I will never improve at either, and risk getting bored with both.
If this reads a bit like a confessional, then it's probably because it feels like it is. I love capoeira, I think it's brilliant, and strangely I feel guilty for stopping. But stop I must. You know you've made a correct decision becuase once you've made it, you feel this massive weight lift off your shoulders. That's how a felt last night.
Bouldering in the Peak District on Sunday. Alright!