Juneathon day fourteen: intermittent

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At around three this afternoon monsoon-like conditions greeted me as I peered out of the office window.

I texted Ginge – “I may need a canoe to do Juneathon”. .

As I ran out of the office at 4.15, I was greeted with blue skies and a hint of sunshine. My hopes started to raise.

Ten minutes later, the sky grew darker and as I pulled into the petrol station the first splat of rain hit my windscreen.

In the time it took me to fill my car, the splat had turned into a downpour.

So tonight’s Juneathon has been a mix of activities squeezed in around the weather.

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1. Sprint – A rain soaked dash from the front door across the road to the post office so I could catch them before they shut.

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2. Weight lifting – Heavy books needed to go back to the library

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3. Resistance training – I was strong and avoided being lured into the chippy on my way home

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4. Distance – Admittedly not a long distance (it’s about a half mile round trip if you squint a bit) but I walked briskly to the library and back, and was rewarded with a lovely bit of librarian chat while I was there.

I may even do some stretches later (if Ginge puts my cup of tea slightly out of reach…)

Juneathon day thirteen: reminiscing

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Gym etiquette question: is it ok to strip off your (extremely) sweaty t-shirt, towel down your naked chest as if you’ve just got out of the shower and then re-dress (admittedly in a clean shirt) before hopping onto the next bit of equipment? I hasten to add that this wasn’t my behaviour, I just found it a bit disconcerting at 8 o’clock in the morning.

Yes, I have gymmed. Five minutes of unbearable boredom on the treadmill as a warm-up, followed by 15 minutes random hills on each of the the bike and the elliptical thingy. All this was whilst listening to the Cool Britannia episode of Stuart Maconie’s The People’s Songs. I’ve really enjoyed dipping into this series (I ran in the snow listening to the skiffle one during Janathon) and this one made me all reminiscent for 1997. Regardless of politics, this was my post-A-levels, turning 18, not a care in the world summer that by law has to be remembered through a haze of sunsets and kittens (in reality a haze of Strongbow and Guinness, but it’s much the same).

As I pedalled and pushed, I pondered on what 18-year-old me would make of 33-year-old me. I suspect that she would be a little freaked out by the running, but otherwise would be quite relieved by how things have turned out. Conversely, I suspect that 33-year-old me would tell 18-year-old me to slow down on the ale and pies so that I would have less of a beer gut to deal with in my thirties.

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I could illustrate this post with a sepia-toned photograph of myself in the late 90s, but I won’t. So here’s a bee on a poppy instead.

 

 

 

Juneathon day twelve: missing

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Over the past few days I’ve realised that I’ve been missing my longer runs. Having found a sensible part of my head that I didn’t know existed, I’m only run/walking for 30 minutes (or 3 miles if I feel I can go on for a bit longer). It’s not just the feeling of the run (well the aferwards) that I miss, it’s just being out and about around the village, seeing things from the pavement that either I don’t notice from the car or running routes that I never drive.

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There’s nothing wild going on, it’s usually just the odd sign about things, or something being demolished or developed, but I feel like I know what’s happening. And I miss that.

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Anyway, today I was on a later shift at work so I could have an early run with none of the trauma of a pre-dawn alarm call. It’s felt harder than other days (but that’s the way of running, it’s no guarantee of how next time will turn out), my running was shorter and my walks more frequent. It’s a bit like doing a couch to 5k in reverse.

 

Juneathon day eleven: warrior

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Once again I awoke bright and early, before my Athon alarm (yes, I really have such a thing set up on my phone) had chance to sound. However, unlike last week, this morning was not a leaping out of bed kind of day. Instead, I let myself be swaddled by the warm milkiness of the state that exists between awake and dreaming. I did dream about going to the gym, but I had no kit and had to go shopping on the way, only to get distracted by a short corduroy skirt from the Jamie Oliver Birdwatching range (even in my dream I recognised that this was unlikely to be a real actual thing).

So today’s exercise has been yoga, where we continued to work on maintaining our cores and engaging our pelvic floors, whilst doing some lovely strong leg work and finishing off with a nicely aligned warrior pose. During the relaxation at the end I nearly returned to my dreaming as I let my bones grow heavy, but was spared the embarrassment of waking myself up with a snore.

Perhaps I should have been meditating on the cruel irony that, of all the beers that Ginge bought at the weekend, the one he said that I would like the best was this one…

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Juneathon day ten: short

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Well the carnival has moved on and the fairground is back to being an expansive of green – it’s as if the whole thing never happened.

After all of this weekend’s excitement, today’s Juneathon was a simple and sedate walk in the park.

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We grimaced a bit at the knock off military fitness group being bawled at by their instructor (it’s really not my cup of tea) and marvelled at the thickery of someone who thought it was a good idea to let a small boy to encourage a swan peck at his feet (as far as I can see that’s a plan that is either going to end in tears or A&E).