The training group's annual pilgrimage to Monte Gordo commenced in earnest yesterday. In the morning we drove south from Faro to our apartment base for the week. They may not be the most modern examples of the species, but they are reasonably comfortable and quite capacious with a balcony extending around two sides. The living rooms in both of the apartments which we have taken look out over the promenade towards the sea.
There are eight of us in this year's group. A fairly varied ensemble, certainly age wise, ranging from sixty to eighteen. The individual standards of the group are however not quite as disparate as the age range might suggest. Our first day's training was a fairly modest affair. We did about fifteen minutes of core work before completing a forty five minute run which took us through pinewoods to the athletics track and then back to base along the beach. Most of the group then disported themselves in the Atlantic with self being a notable exception. Well being unable to swim or float and having a natural antipathy towards non potable aqueous substances does mean that such activities do not attract me.
The evening repast was consumed at a rather primitive establishment which had been discovered by our coach and group leader during one of his solo expeditions to the Algarve. The hostess of this culinary gem regaled us with stories of her apparent friendship with Christiaan Barnard. The main attraction of this eating establishment is probably its proximity to our apartments.