Beefer?

Every now and again I need to see my mate Jim. 

My inbuilt 'phys ninja' capacity has a pretty good run time, but like all our modern gucci kit essentials, I occasionally need recharging, and that's Jim's job. Before you think that this is heading off down Brokeback Mountain territory, ain't nobody poisoning my watering hole pardner. 

Jim is a few years older than me, and a bit of an enigma. In the fifteen years that I've known him, I have no idea what he does for a living other than 'be Jim'. But I suppose that if I did, it would be akin to finding out that Thor is a part-time I.T. consultant. In my life, that is not Jim's role. 

I have a vague recollection that he has a sister,I suppose he must have parents although I wouldn't be surprised if he was created by elemental forces and hatched out of an egg; probably already in his p.e. kit. I know his wife and luckily she is Jim in a blonde wig. But in my life, family tree knowledge is not Jim's role. 

Spend half an hour with Jim and you'll find yourself doubling the amount of training you are currently doing. 

Spend an evening with him and you will quit your job, enter 3 races a week for the rest of your life and join the Royal Marines. He is a walking, talking Mr. Motivator without the leotard.

Jim is not on Facebook. I know for a fact that he has emailed me in the past but his messages have some kind of sneaky in-built James Bond shit that means I have no record of his address and no way of pitifully offering excuses for poor performances. We communicate only by 'man text'- brief, to the point and with at least one race result included per text. No kisses, no smileys, no acronyms other than MTFU. Jim doesn't have a Garmin, you won't find him on Strava, and I've never seen him with a heart rate monitor.    

Jim has done some coaching in the past, and his philosophy is that if you aren't prepared to put in 30 hours a week, you aren't worth bothering with. Jim is a bit of a 'one pace wonder', but that pace is nosebleed fast. Out of the blocks, in first place, death or glory. 

If you need an excuse to get you out of bed and onto the bike, if you want to be the best athlete you can possibly be, don't look for a gym, look for a Jim.