Sat here wearing a cheap pair of scratched reading glasses with only one arm, the bridge balanced precariously halfway down my nose, I am pleased to report Progress with a capital 'P'. 'Most excellent' as Bill and Ted would say.
Having spent everyday at the gym for the last month, my expanding shoulders and chest developed a label overnight which read 'do not inflate to more than 100psi'. Yes, I was becoming an inverted weeble. Its true for each hour I spent in the place a good fraction was leg work, but not being able to load your foot is a bummer and I was losing my neck to 16kg dumbells.
I can now walk without a hobble and while there's no running on the horizon quite yet, I've been out on the bike for 3 consecutive days, and blidy windy it has been.
Works been very quiet, but that's good practice for when I retire. I haven't felt too bad shilly-shallying. I've avoided planting myself in a dank corner and staring at the dusty phone, an apparatus that only used to ring with calls from some foreign exotic land; but now they don't even phone me. How I long for a flaky call from 'Brian' from 'Macrosoft' suggesting that there's a problem with my computer.
It was the Eildon 3 Hills Race last weekend and we went up and had a good afternoon out. I hope to be in one piece next year to run it. In the meantime, it'll be more biking, more distance punctuated with tea and cakes stops and a wee bit of elevation. I should get back to the pool, but the weather is warm, so I like to be out and about.
On the book front I found myself ditching John Banville's 'The Untouchables', a slow page turner that eventually slowed to a complete halt. I moved on rapidly to Denise Mina's 'Garnethill', only to find that I'd read it. Plonker. Thankfully it was a charity buy. Its now Val McDermids '1979' which is an easy read and allows me to wallow in a shallow and murky pond of nostalgia. All good.
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