Eat when you can, not when you want to.
A rule that should probably have quite specific application instructions but which I apply liberally to life’s epidermis. There are situations where the rule is very important, like road races.
There are situations where the rule can do more harm than good, like a rest day spent entirely at home and alone. Then there are gamble days where the rule shows its true precarious colours, like a 24-hour journey from Scotland to Australia.
I find myself nearing the end of such a day. Well, two days if you include the time travel.
I’m headed 10 hours into the future with the rest of the Team Scotland cyclists, ahead of the Commonwealth Games.
In order to adjust to a new time zone, you want to enter the meal times of that time zone as soon as possible.
The problem is that this doesn’t just require basic arithmetic to figure out what those meal times are, some preparation so you have food available to eat at those times and a sense of decorum and self-control to stick to such a plan; but also the most important feature — an already established regular meal pattern in your own time zone, to give the shift any meaning.
Who has such a thing?
I myself enjoy the ‘eat when you can, not when you want to’ rule so much that I apply it to sleep as well.
In truth, it’s an Archibald affliction. My brother has been known to take the odd accidental nap waiting at a red light in the car, though our usual preference is the closest sofa.
My dad has a sofa in his office for such a purpose, which is more entertaining when I tell you that from this office he runs a chain of bed shops.
So, in a life where I’m eating and sleeping whenever and wherever possible, do you really think my belly knows the time?
Let’s just hope there are a few readily available sofas over these coming days while I adapt to life 10 hours in the future.