I was attacked by the parachute Regiment along the trail first thing on Tuesday morning.
Literally an army of 50 or so Paras pounding the path and running in my direction.
Relax - it was only a training run. Even the pacifist within couldn't but help to be impressed with such a show of muscle.
Not so in the pool.
Tuesday was ticked off once again as a functional swim.
The indoor water certainly felt a lot thinner when compared to Lake Brockwell yesterday. I cut through fairly clearly, but just didn't have the energy for a power swim.
Work shifts and @surreycricket commentary ate up the rest of the morning and all afternoon.
I managed to escape from the desk for a trip to the dentist.
That's as good as it got I'm afraid.
I accept defeat with my £50 wager with Anna that I could keep up flossing for a six month period. It was never going to happen to be honest.
I pondered over telling Mr Dentist about my very, very mild toothache.
In the end my penny pinching ways won over. If he can't detect it, then I 'aint gonna tell him.
"You have a lovely set of teeth, Mr Cobb."
Tuesday evening was spent writing a piece as the esteemed cycling correspondent of Vice magazine.
Nope - I'm not entirely sure how that happened, either.
But job's a good 'un.
1,500 words on the Cult of the Derny Rider was the request.
1,500 words delivered.