Baked Beans anyone?

A weekend off doing absolutely nothing. I had surgery on my ankle on Thursday, where the surgeon removed 2 pieces of bone that had fallen off my leg from somewhere and were stuck down in my ankle cavity. I believe the intensive kicking work I have done in swim training, dislodged these little suckers and they decided to mess around and cause me much pain over the last 3 months. Well finally they are out and resting in a specimen jar on my mantle (two white splodges on the left are the bits of bone), I have decided to have the next 2 weeks off from doing any form of exercise and to recover.

Unbelievable, I have no pain, no swelling and can more or less walk on the foot unaided. Incredible to think I just a few days ago I was under a full anaesthetic and now feel I have a new foot. I don't want to hatchet my Count before he chickens but I would say in the New Year, I will be back on track. I have a 260 mile swim planned in June and so need to focus.

Whilst browsing my favorite sites on the web for inspiration this morning, I was reminded of this jolly poem by Robert Service, I never quite know whether I fit the category or not, disconcerting sometimes.

The Men That Don't Fit In

There's a race of men that don't fit in,

A race that can't stay still;

So they break the hearts of kith and kin,

And they roam the world at will.

They range the field and they rove the flood,

And they climb the mountain's crest;

Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,

And they don't know how to rest.

If they just went straight they might go far;

They are strong and brave and true;

But they're always tired of the things that are,

And they want the strange and new.

They say: "Could I find my proper groove,

What a deep mark I would make!"

So they chop and change, and each fresh move

Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs

With a brilliant, fitful pace,

It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones

Who win in the lifelong race.

And each forgets that his youth has fled,

Forgets that his prime is past,

Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,

In the glare of the truth at last.

He has failed, he has failed;

he has missed his chance;

He has just done things by half.

Life's been a jolly good joke on him,

And now is the time to laugh.

Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;

He was never meant to win;

He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;

He's a man who won't fit in.