Juneathon day thirteen: reminiscing

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.

I could

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.

 

 

 

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Juneathon 10/30: A walk in the park

Today’s run was supposed to be straightforward; I would join Ginge in the gym for a bit and then run home. I got to the gym and it dawned on me that I’ve neglected the gym a bit during Juneathon. I enjoy doing my weights at the gym but can’t get past either the tedium of cardio equipment or the rubbishness of the telly that’s on.

Anyway, at the gym I managed to climb 39 steps (the first of Follystone‘s suggestions that crop up today)…

I can also offer blurry photos of 38 and 40 steps if anyone’s interested

…and did a bit on the cross trainer before I got restless. Sometimes I keep myself entertained by swearing at the adverts. No matter what channel is on, they’re always a variation of payday loans, Uniform Dating (do you fancy people who have to wear a designated outfit and a name badge?) and the Veet one with the girl who’s inordinately proud that she no longer gives herself third degree burns whilst waxing her legs. Sadly the EDF energy advert wasn’t on, which deprived me both of something orange and the opportunity to mutter darkly at what is essentially a jovial orange poo with backing dancers.

It’s called Zingy apparently

After a while I think I must have been annoying Ginge because he suggested the grand idea of me running round town looking for treasure (yes mum, there was shades of this being ‘a good job for me’).

Off I trotted, optimistically seeking a half eaten Greggs or someone’s dropped treasure, but unfortunately the locals are too frugal to waste pastry or spare change. I made my way up to the park, getting some slightly odd looks as I darted from tree to tree looking for one from my list. I didn’t quite find Jo’s a tree with someone’s name carved in, but this one did have a declaration of love so I think that counts.

Today I shall be mad woman taking photos of trees

I headed up to the lake to see if I could spy some baby swans, only to get into a conversation with a couple who were looking for exactly the same thing. Apparently, the swans have been on the nest constantly for the last week, but today both were off it and yet there was no sign of any cygnets. The nesting island was covered in ducks and gulls, which is a bit odd if there were eggs or babies on there. I am awaiting updates.

Swan: may or may not have been a neglectful parent

Even though there were no baby swans, there was this chap who, with his waterside hangout, certainly looked like a dignified pigeon (and his feet weren’t deformed or nothing). If you want to see the very definition of a dignified pigeon have a look at Deadly Knitshade, yarn bomber extraordinaire and keeper of both Cooey the Pigeon and Plarchie the Giant Squid. Her book (Stitch London) is bloody awesome.

I am a pigeon. This is my lake.

After all the socialising and pigeon paparazzi, I thought I better head back to Ginge whose eagle eyes had spotted a blue fence (another of Follystone‘s) at the railway station.

I’ve spent ages defining what is a fence and what are railings. This is most definitely a fence.

Gym graced with my presence, three miles run, four treasures spotted, not bad for a Sunday.

In which I actually run THREE TIMES in a week and find that my leg doesn’t drop off

I don’t know what I did when I had free will and didn’t get blindsided into doing Athons avery few months. Well I do, I chose sofa and didn’t run as much. Since declaring myself as part of Viceathon, I have managed to stick to some kind of plan (although today’s exercise hasn’t been done, so there is a potential weasel on the horizon).

The week has seen an early morning run, a yoga class followed by late night gym, an evening run (which surely would have been otherwise weaselled because I was a bit knackered), a rest day (which was appreciated all the more for being guilt-free) and a nice 6 miler in the brief spell of sunshine that we had yesterday. Today has been declared run or gym, but judging by the steady drizzle, I suspect that I’ll be heading down to the gym.

I did a lamb run the other week, they're lovely - very gambolly.

Happy Easter!

PS: note tiny knitted chicken (from a Mochimochi Land pattern – warning:contains many teeny tiny bunnies…)

Sessions weaselled = 1
Miles run = 12
Minutes gymmed = 45

Hopping on board the Viceathon bus.

I have been trying to avoid the lure of Viceathon, but I have succumbed. For the  unitiated, Viceathon is the brainchild of JogBlog (who you might remember from such Athons as Janathon and Juneathon) who explains concept here. Basically, it’s a bit like offsetting your carbon footprint, but instead of planting a tree every time you turn the heating on, you offset a vice by doing some exercise. Offsetting your lard footprint if you will.

I have been trying to avoid the lure of Viceathon, but I have finally succumbed. For the uninitiated, Viceathon is the brainchild of JogBlog (who you might remember from such Athons as Janathon and Juneathon) who explains concept here. Basically, it’s a bit like offsetting your carbon footprint, but instead of planting a tree every time you turn the heating on, you offset a vice by doing some exercise. Offsetting your lard footprint if you will.

My problem has been with identifying a vice that I can offset. Now I’d love to claim that this is because I am viceless, but this will be read by people who know me and if I did claim that, the comments below would be filled with loud guffaws (hello mum). No, it’s been more of an issue finding a suitable vice. Other people’s vices include alcohol, baked goods and being a dirty stop out, all of which I may have indulged in at some point or another (hello again mum), but everything that I thought of now are too dull/too infrequent/too unsuitable for sharing with the general public to be vices. I’ve also managed to identify a thousand bad habits, but these are all things that I want to give up (saving Ginge a lot of Toffee Crisp buying missions) or I don’t take pleasure in (and I’m certain that a vice should be enjoyable).

Yesterday I complained that I still didn’t have a vice, but I also hadn’t done any exercise, which surely meant that if nothing else, I was breaking even? It was at this point that Sue suggested that ‘not exercising’ could be my vice. I thought about this, only for it to create a bizarre paradox that made my brain hurt, so I stopped thinking about it until my run this morning when it crept in again…

Over the last couple of months, I’ve been convinced that I’ve been running fairly regularly, but now I’ve looked back on Miles’ records I’ve realised that since the end of Janathon I’ve only once managed to run three times in a week. What makes it even worse is that my weekly mileage has been consistently less than 10 miles (except the week where I ran once, but did 11 miles). So my belatedly designated vice is going to be “weaselling out of exercise”. Generally, these are days where I postpone my morning run to after work and then get tempted by the magnetic power of the sofa and do sod all instead.

Theoretically, I shouldn’t do this more than once or twice a week so I’m going to have to do some hefty penalty points. As such, I have decreed that each weaselled session = 10 miles or 90 minutes in the gym.

Sessions weaselled = 1 (Monday)
Miles run = 3 (Tuesday)
Gym minutes hefted = 0

It is the third of April, I am already 7 miles in debt.

Oh, and to avoid cheating, I suppose I should declare my intentions for the rest of the week.
Wednesday – Gym and yoga
Thursday – Run
Friday – Resting (not weaselling)
Saturday – Run or gym
Sunday – Run or gym

 

My problem has been identifying a suitable vice to be offset. I’d love to claim that this is because I am viceless, but this blog is read by people hwo know me and if I did claim that, the comments would be filled with loud guffaws (hello mum).

 

Things I like about the gym

Having been to the gym properly this morning, I can counterbalance my last post with some things that I like about the gym.

  1. The gym is open 24 hours – I’m never going to go in the middle of the night, but it does mean that I can go nice and early and not miss the best part of the day.
  2. The loud young people’s music – this gives me much scope for me asking questions like “do they play this on the light programme?” and “will I have heard it on Desert Island Discs?” like a befuddled retired colonel (I enjoy this far more than I should).
  3. Using the treadmill to do intervals reduces my capacity to skive – if I don’t keep up the pace, I will fall off.
  4. I will have all sorts of newly aching body parts in the morning.
  5. There are toilet facilities on hand – without going into too much detail, if I need to go then my insides are activated after about a mile or so. If I reach two miles, then I can run as far as I can without needing the loo. Today was no different, except that I could nip downstairs and then carry on (unlike Wednesday when I mightily narked to get up at half five and have my run cut short at 1.5 miles).