IT’S now just three weeks until we turn life as we know it on its head but rather than being in the final stages of preparation we’re as organised as two drunk chickens minus a couple of heads.
The reality of what we’re about to do has sparked a high-strung cage of butterflies to burst open in our stomachs and with just four days of work left that comfortable security blanket of “normal” has worn down to a thread bare rag.
That old “to do list” still has a hell of a lot of unticked items including crucial bits of gear, route planning and the sorting out of documents sparking us to race around in a desperate attempt to get our affairs in order before D-Day.
And while we’re expecting to fill our last days in the Land Down Under in a mad frenzied attempt to fit 90 per cent of our preparation into the last 1 per cent of the deadline there’s one rather crucial part we’ve noticeably left out.
“So Sarah, how’s the training going? You must be doing some serious miles on the bike to get ready?”
This question is usually accompanied with a conspicuous glance at my slightly pudgy stomach and flabby thighs while I hastily shove the chocolate bar behind my back and wave the question off with a nervous laugh.
“Shit, that’s what we forgot to do!”
But in all seriousness our grand plans of cycling 100km on the weekend and at least twice during the weekday fell spectacularly by the wayside just a few days into our new regime.
Long stressful workdays have acted like a sedative while the couch has become a lumpy seductress, alongside their saucy accomplices chocolate, pizza and ice-cream.
We laughingly joke we’ll get fit on the road and tell our friends we’re “getting a little extra padding for the tough days ahead” but the truth is we’re on track to get the shock of our lives when we unpack the bike boxes in Inverness and hit the wild Highlands with nothing but a tent, one cook set and a bloody meagre budget.
But the fitness ship has sailed and now there’s nothing left to do but charge ahead blindly, panting heavily from the exertion, while desperately hoping it all works out and we don’t crawl back him, battered and bruised, after our first month.