I would be lying if I said anything other than this: this little portion of time was as if someone had reached into my dreams in while I was asleep in cold Azerbaijan, and dragged out the scene, kicking and screaming, into reality. For nearly 3 weeks, I read in the sun, ate ice, watched Britain clean up at the Olympics and scratched myself inappropriately. Sure, I did some training and article writing, but those things hardly even tickled the stress-o-metre, and when they did, I would just go swim in a lake, play baseball with my aunt, or chase woodland critters. The only “jobs” I had to do were to put together my CV and start looking for temporary employment. And pretend that Bradley Wiggins was my best friend.