OK, so this time I am writing this alone. I am flying solo. And it’s a little strange. As I write this Anna is somewhere in deepest South America. She has gone on an extended holiday with her husband and I have only heard from her once since she left. That was to let me know she had sunburn and for the first time in years no one could tell her off.
December is the end of the year. That bit is admittedly obvious, but for us it is symbolic too. This wonderful roller coaster of a year couldn’t go on forever and for all the huge build up to it and the wonderful heights we hit, inevitably it had to end.
It’s strange writing this. In the aftermath. That period of time we didn’t think about. The Olympic Games are over and we did it. The prize that we dared to dream about, that we worked for, sweated over, had sleepless nights over, that got us up every morning regardless of weather or levels of exhaustion, that prize is now ours.