(this sounds like a frakking Wordsworth poem)
I am going to play dodgeball within an hour, and it promises to be one of those ridiculous training sessions that can tear multiple muscles in half an hour and scar your for life into never dismissing dodgeball as ‘not a real sport’ ever again (and considering I can’t walk down stairs without killing my calves after karate on Monday, I might indeed tear multiple muscles this evening).
I’m also going to play without eating; I helpfully got up at three in the afternoon today (a one-off lie-in, I promise) so had breakfast, but haven’t yet felt like having lunch, now four hours later. I also can’t eat so close to playing, because I’ll get indigestion and have to piss around with my pump, which I don’t really want to do in the middle of sport.
This has created the titular ‘window of eating’, where I had a good few hours to eat, but have now got too close to dodgeball, and am confined to being hit in the face with a ball on a slightly emptier stomach than usual.
Truly my life is difficult to the point of intense sympathy.