Tired tired tired.

2 hour run on Thursday up to Hampstead (excellent), 70 min run with 6x Primrose Hill reps on Saturday (the first time my legs have been the limiting factor, rather than my lungs; and the first time I've managed to keep going after each climb rather than stopping for a breather), then a 6 hour ride on Sunday in the Surrey Hills; 3 hills this time, rather than 5, but nearly the same distance (total of 69 miles including the commute to our meeting point at Richmond Park), and a healthy pace all the way round. Really enjoyed it, helped by glorious sunshine, a good group of 5 well-matched riders, and the long-awaited "riders revival" flapjack at the top of Box Hill. Fab.

This week I'm taking it steady in preparation for a week of hill training in Shropshire next week, although I'm mostly hoping not to contract Miles's latest lurgy which is a nasty little throat number which keeps him hacking painfully through the early hours and away from such pleasures as swimming and nursery. I suppose staying at home in the mornings (rather than running up to Hampstead) means that I can finally get our windsurfing stuff sold on eBay. After some tedious work on the descriptions that is.

Met up with a handful of new American friends this weekend, who were put in touch by Yi Shun and are all keen triathletes who've recently relocated to our pleasant land. Nice to meet some new people and open the house up to company. Lovely to have Olly round for dinner too, to be a different voice for kids' storytime. Jody is smitten with her uncle and performs like a drunken teenager whenever he's around. Goodness knows what she'll be like when she really is a drunken teenager.

How is it I go out running this morning (in my ancient Buffalo top) in wind and rain and 12 degrees, and now it's glorious sunshine and blue skies and beautiful? It's sort of cathartic to expose oneself to the elements like that, but getting up before 5:30 is not. Roj is now also training in the mornings in anticipation of our VO2 testing in early November, so we have to fight over the priviledge of early morning runs. There's something wrong with that, but I can't put my finger on it.

Miles is two and a half today. Some people say you need to measure them at 2, some people say 2.5. Then apparently you can double that height and get a good idea of how tall they'll be when they stop growing. 101cm x 2 = 202cm = 6' 7½"! Not a short-arse then.

Not for the first time I'm thinking I need to go to anger management. I cracked over a mouthful of noodles yesterday and ended up shouting like a banshee and storming out of the dining room. My kids must think I'm mad. Maybe I am mad. I don't want my kids to grow up scared of me or - just as bad - immune to anger. I need to work on it.

We had a lovely weekend just passed. Congratulations to Milly and Graham on their marriage. Beautiful setting in the middle of Shropshire countryside, some really good people having a whale of a time, and the happy couple absolutely glowing in their love for each other. I felt so honoured to have little Jody be part of the bridal party with her pretty little dress and basket of rose petals, and she behaved like a little angel too which was both surprising and a huge relief. Even at bedtime, when we didn't know whether the kids would be pestering to stay up late, Jody leant over my lap at the dinner table, shut her eyes and said "I want to go to bed now Mummy." Miles acquiesced too, so I popped them to our convenient room upstairs and didn't hear another peep from them until about 12:30am when Miles did his customary nightime whinge session which involves kicking and writhing and general prevention of sleep for anyone else (growing pains I think). We woke on Sunday morning in a sleep-deprived fug and revived ourselves over a delicious cooked breakfast and coffee, before heading back to London via Nana's house.

Lovely also to see Uncle Olly again, for the first time in nearly 2 years, back from Vietnam for the occasion of his Dad's operation which has, to the relief of all, gone amazingly well and left Mike finally with the probability of complete recovery ahead. Just a few more tests and a few more days in hospital and the epic should be over. Looking forward for the kids to get the chance to catch up with him when he's feeling up to it.

My swimming lessons have been interesting. They were run by a very eccentric woman for the first two weeks, who was observed in her teaching style during the second session by none other than the creator of the Art of Swimming technique, Stephen Shaw. The third week came around and our eccentric woman was nowhere to be seen, and instead Stephen Shaw was stepping in for the final 3 sessions. And I must say, their teaching techniques could not have been more different; the early sessions being rather enigmatic and Stephen's, by contrast, focusing on the precise reasons behind doing the stroke a certain way.

Early on I thought there was altogether too much standing around in cold water, but now we're at the stage of stringing together the complete stroke I'm finding it quite a challenge to think separately about what each arm and leg should be doing at any given second, never mind my posture and balance in the water, the relative position of my head and whatever else. I can sense that the technique will improve my crawl no end (we're talking complete renovation here), but it's going to be hard work and lots of practice sessions before I can move along in the water without so much mental effort. Stephen recommends doing the same course twice in order to assimilate the technique better. I'm not sure I'd run to that, but 5 sessions aren't enough either. Hmmm.

Roj is away in Malta on a 'teambuilding' (slacking) exercise. Not sure he's looking forward to it, but it might give him a break from the hard work that's been going on these past few months. Back on a fleeting visit to Miami the following week which will nearly push him to gold on BA's frequent flyers programme, and then home for a while, maybe.