It's the time of season when it is all too tempting to put your feet up and call it a day; most of the major races are over, there is the UCI World Champs on TV, and it's pissing it down outside with gale force winds. Unfortunately, I seem to have an addiction to my bike and to racing. Even when the rational part of my brain looked out the window this morning and shook its head at the ridiculous headwind and pouring rain, it was the childish, excited part that quickly won over, flashing up the words "RACE", "COMPETITION", "MUD", "FUN?" in neon lights. So it was that I started my fourth? (done a few of these, can't remember how many) Seven Hills this morning in horrendous conditions. I was pleased to see that there were plenty of other Isle of Wighters and Mainland folk braving the conditions as well. I sacked off my warm up, opting instead to sit in the warmth of James' van eating Jelly Babies and reciting the checkpoints. T