there with the football team I played with. We spent the most awesome night in Bar Salamanca, which is ridiculous because it’s not even in that district,’ he roared with laughter.
I laughed along, a split-second too late, and then trailed off.
‘Did you go?’ he asked.
‘Go?’ I said, lost now.
‘Bar Salamanca, in the centre,’ he repeated.
‘Oh no, we didn’t,’ I said, trying to sound gutted. ‘We, er … walked past it though.’
‘It’s an amazing place. They serve you beers and shisha pipes on low cushions on the floor. I’m off drink, obviously, but the atmosphere is just fantastic.’
‘Off drink?’ I prompted, trying to steer him away from the original topic and risk exposing my theatre of lies.
‘Well, it gets in the way of training, so I tend to avoid it.’
‘Training for what?’ I asked.
He shrugged. ‘Whatever I happen to be doing at the time. When I was in Madrid I was in training for the football season, but I was also running the Barcelona Marathon that year.’
‘Oh wow. You sound very sporty!’ I said, amazed that someone could have so much stamina. ‘Are you training for anything now?’
‘A competition in four months, actually,’ he replied, manoeuvring the car around a lone caravan, the canoe rattling a little as the speedometer edged up to 80 mph.
I hastily looked away and tried not to think too much about potential canoe-related car crashes. ‘Competing in what exactly?’
‘A mixture of stuff. It’s a triathlon, you see.’ He swerved back into the outside lane.
My triathlon knowledge was about as detailed as my canoe knowledge, but I nodded appreciatively and said, ‘Gosh.’
‘Yeah, it’s the second time I’ve done it. It’s called The Iron Man competition. It’s pretty mad actually.’ He gave a low laugh and indicated off the motorway.
‘In Bristol?’ I asked him.
‘America, actually.’
‘America, really?’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘Ooh.’
‘Yep.’
‘So, um, what do you do for it exactly?’
‘Well, you start with an ocean swim, then cycle, then run a marathon to finish,’ he explained.
‘Right … Gosh,’ I said again. That didn’t quite seem to convey enough enthusiasm, so I added a ‘golly’ for good measure. ‘Gosh … Golly.’
‘Hmm.’
‘You’ll probably want to kick back for the rest of the year after all that, I imagine?’ I said in a slightly strangled tone.
‘God, no,’ he laughed. ‘I’ve got to raise money because my friend Tom and I are doing the Himalayan 100 Mile Stage Race in October next year.’ He registered my blank face. ‘It’s a run.’
Had he said 100 miles? A run that is 100 miles long. Isn’t that the distance from Bristol to London? Isn’t that a car journey that requires a sweetie stop?
‘Yeah, it’s quite intense,’ Steven explained, spotting my astonished expression. ‘It’s like running a marathon a day for five days, in the Himalayas. The high altitude can make it a little harder to breathe, so it can be quite challenging.’
This silenced me. Quite challenging. Surely there could be nothing on this earth more challenging than five marathons in five days up a mountain range where people die walking with picks and ropes? This was a man who liked to test himself. This was a man who was focused on winning, endurance and pushing his body well beyond its capabilities. This was a man I was about to get into a canoe with. My stomach plummeted. I wanted to go home. But it was too late. We pulled into an empty car park.
‘We’re here,’ Steven said, beaming at me. ‘Looks like a light sea breeze!’ The glee in his voice was palpable.
‘Super!’ I swallowed, watching him climb out of the car and almost instantly getting knocked off his feet by the ‘light’ sea breeze.
I took a breath and opened the car door. This was it. My hair whipped around my face. I looked over at Steven. He was inhaling deeply and rolling his shoulders.
‘Let’s get the kayak down!’ he
I laughed along, a split-second too late, and then trailed off.
‘Did you go?’ he asked.
‘Go?’ I said, lost now.
‘Bar Salamanca, in the centre,’ he repeated.
‘Oh no, we didn’t,’ I said, trying to sound gutted. ‘We, er … walked past it though.’
‘It’s an amazing place. They serve you beers and shisha pipes on low cushions on the floor. I’m off drink, obviously, but the atmosphere is just fantastic.’
‘Off drink?’ I prompted, trying to steer him away from the original topic and risk exposing my theatre of lies.
‘Well, it gets in the way of training, so I tend to avoid it.’
‘Training for what?’ I asked.
He shrugged. ‘Whatever I happen to be doing at the time. When I was in Madrid I was in training for the football season, but I was also running the Barcelona Marathon that year.’
‘Oh wow. You sound very sporty!’ I said, amazed that someone could have so much stamina. ‘Are you training for anything now?’
‘A competition in four months, actually,’ he replied, manoeuvring the car around a lone caravan, the canoe rattling a little as the speedometer edged up to 80 mph.
I hastily looked away and tried not to think too much about potential canoe-related car crashes. ‘Competing in what exactly?’
‘A mixture of stuff. It’s a triathlon, you see.’ He swerved back into the outside lane.
My triathlon knowledge was about as detailed as my canoe knowledge, but I nodded appreciatively and said, ‘Gosh.’
‘Yeah, it’s the second time I’ve done it. It’s called The Iron Man competition. It’s pretty mad actually.’ He gave a low laugh and indicated off the motorway.
‘In Bristol?’ I asked him.
‘America, actually.’
‘America, really?’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘Ooh.’
‘Yep.’
‘So, um, what do you do for it exactly?’
‘Well, you start with an ocean swim, then cycle, then run a marathon to finish,’ he explained.
‘Right … Gosh,’ I said again. That didn’t quite seem to convey enough enthusiasm, so I added a ‘golly’ for good measure. ‘Gosh … Golly.’
‘Hmm.’
‘You’ll probably want to kick back for the rest of the year after all that, I imagine?’ I said in a slightly strangled tone.
‘God, no,’ he laughed. ‘I’ve got to raise money because my friend Tom and I are doing the Himalayan 100 Mile Stage Race in October next year.’ He registered my blank face. ‘It’s a run.’
Had he said 100 miles? A run that is 100 miles long. Isn’t that the distance from Bristol to London? Isn’t that a car journey that requires a sweetie stop?
‘Yeah, it’s quite intense,’ Steven explained, spotting my astonished expression. ‘It’s like running a marathon a day for five days, in the Himalayas. The high altitude can make it a little harder to breathe, so it can be quite challenging.’
This silenced me. Quite challenging. Surely there could be nothing on this earth more challenging than five marathons in five days up a mountain range where people die walking with picks and ropes? This was a man who liked to test himself. This was a man who was focused on winning, endurance and pushing his body well beyond its capabilities. This was a man I was about to get into a canoe with. My stomach plummeted. I wanted to go home. But it was too late. We pulled into an empty car park.
‘We’re here,’ Steven said, beaming at me. ‘Looks like a light sea breeze!’ The glee in his voice was palpable.
‘Super!’ I swallowed, watching him climb out of the car and almost instantly getting knocked off his feet by the ‘light’ sea breeze.
I took a breath and opened the car door. This was it. My hair whipped around my face. I looked over at Steven. He was inhaling deeply and rolling his shoulders.
‘Let’s get the kayak down!’ he
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