I logged out of the computer, hands still trembling…mind still racing. I had a few hours until my delayed flight was due, a flight which I no longer particularly wanted to catch. I headed over to Wasatch Brew Pub and sat at the bar. The place was fairly packed out, businessmen awaiting flights and passing the time with an ice cold one. I checked over the menu, no Russian Standard was served. I’d have to make do with a local draft beverage….The Devastator was an aptly named drink and with its’ stronger alcohol content it was just what I needed.

I had gone without any form of alcohol for 12 weeks, yet now back in the world without any restrictions I found myself on the verge of drinking it. It wasn’t like it was vodka anyway…this was just a beer…nothing dangerous about it. Besides I needed it…who wouldn’t after that email? The barman laid it down in front of me, a deep mahogany texture to it and a light head on top…I lifted the glass to my mouth…the cream like wetness of the beer touched my lip. I tipped the glass to take a full swig of it…

I headed towards my gate, finally my flight had been called. As I walked through the airport my mind was racing. After 12 weeks away from the UK I was heading home. I had steered clear of papers and the internet too afraid that I was still the focus of attention in the sport pages. Whilst deep down I knew that the media had probably moved onto someone else by now I was also aware that part of the reason was I was elsewhere. Going home put my back in the firing line, not just with them but life in general. I was going to have to start over again…but how & where? It wasn’t like I could just fly in under the radar. I reached my gate number and stood in line, patiently waiting for my seat number to be called…my phone began to vibrate, a call…probably my parents checking in on me, I awkwardly struggled to fetch it out of my pocket before they were diverted to voicemail…’Hello’…

I took the phone away from my ear, I could feel myself go flush white. ‘Excuse me Sir, are you boarding the flight’…it was one of the airline attendants. I hesitated a brief moment, trying to gather my thoughts. ‘Ermm no, sorry, something has come up’.

By now it was nearing the end of October in Salt Lake, the weather was cold but nothing too brutal. The temperatures were beginning to fall sharply as the fall started to come to its conclusion and winter moved in. Whilst I at least had a bit of money to my name it was far from enough to support me for any period of time. That first month I bounced around between 3 hostels, all the time looking for work. Every passing day without success my motivation would dwindle. I knew starting over wasn’t going to be easy yet I was all too aware that without something to keep me heading in the right direction I was going to struggle.

Finally a break, a small diner I frequented regularly was looking for waiting staff. I had small chats with the owner before over a breakfast in the morning, or tea on my afternoon breaks from job hunting. The place was just small, offset from a busy road meaning plenty of customers. I headed in, optimistic that I could finally get work. How I should learn not to be optimistic, before the ad even had time to settle in the window it was being taken down…the owners grandson wanted some work and naturally he was to take precedence! As I exited the diner, my mood non to pleasant I was barged aside by an entering customer…Usually I would just continue but not this time…’Hey, watch yourself you prat’…the guy turned back towards me.

‘Owen…right?!’…’Erm Yeh’…I was confused. ‘It’s Mike, Mike Patt…we met at the airport a few weeks ago’. ‘Oh hey, Mike. Sorry, didn’t mean to be rude, one of those days’. ‘No, No sorry…I was in a bit of a hurry and didn’t see you’. He asked me how I had been and why I was still around. Whatever he was hurrying for upon entering soon disappeared as we sat over a coffee and caught up. I was surprised that he even remembered me to be honest, let alone that he would take the time to catch up with me.

‘So you’re sticking around the area for some time then?’ ‘Well as long as my bank balance allows me, I’ve been trying to find work but no luck so far’. It was a subtle hint. ‘We could always use a helping hand up at the cycling club…it’s nothing special but if you’re looking for work it’ll do the trick’. I accepted in a heartbeat without any thought as to how much it paid or how many hours it was. ‘Thanks Mike, you’ve really helped me out’. He stood, shook my hand and smiled…’My pleasure and in return you can get back on that bike of yours and represent us’.