Who ate all the pies?
Must have been me, judging by the over-inflated spare tyre I seem to be carrying around these days. That's the problem with writing, it's an essentially sedentary occupation. And since I don't smoke, nor partake of caffeine (except the very little bit that's in chocolate), there's nothing to keep my metabolism jittery enough to burn off those calories.
Not that burning calories seems to do me any good. Back in '01, during the Foot and Mouth crisis I spent many happy (for which read fraught) months down in Cardiff working at the Disease Control Centre (sounds cool, was a series of portacabins in the shadow of the tax-office megatower). Most evenings, for want of anything better to do, I'd end up in the gym of whatever plush business hotel I was staying in that fortnight* working out for an hour or two (or sometimes three - man I was bored). After three months my weight had dropped not an ounce. Nada. Zip.
I walk every day, at least four miles, involving hills both up and down. I even go mountain biking at the weekends, when it's not raining and my bike's not in bits on the garage floor. And yet my weight goes up. It's not fair.
Last year I started running, which is a pain around here because you've either got to go up a steep hill on the way out or on the way back, and lots of times in between. Before Christmas I was doing ten miles twice or three times a week. But I still weighed the same. Then at Christmas I got some nasty cold bug from my nephews** and couldn't run for a month***. That month's now become six and I'm back in lardass mode.
But today I went for a run.
It wasn't ten miles. It wasn't even quite five. But I didn't puke my guts out and my legs still seem to be working. Tomorrow may be a different matter.
*If you think a Holiday Inn is bad for a night, try staying in one for a month
**Kids - walking lurgy factories or what?
***I tried and my lungs felt like someone had sewn a cat up inside them****
****Arghh! This blog's been taking over by Mr Stuart
Not that burning calories seems to do me any good. Back in '01, during the Foot and Mouth crisis I spent many happy (for which read fraught) months down in Cardiff working at the Disease Control Centre (sounds cool, was a series of portacabins in the shadow of the tax-office megatower). Most evenings, for want of anything better to do, I'd end up in the gym of whatever plush business hotel I was staying in that fortnight* working out for an hour or two (or sometimes three - man I was bored). After three months my weight had dropped not an ounce. Nada. Zip.
I walk every day, at least four miles, involving hills both up and down. I even go mountain biking at the weekends, when it's not raining and my bike's not in bits on the garage floor. And yet my weight goes up. It's not fair.
Last year I started running, which is a pain around here because you've either got to go up a steep hill on the way out or on the way back, and lots of times in between. Before Christmas I was doing ten miles twice or three times a week. But I still weighed the same. Then at Christmas I got some nasty cold bug from my nephews** and couldn't run for a month***. That month's now become six and I'm back in lardass mode.
But today I went for a run.
It wasn't ten miles. It wasn't even quite five. But I didn't puke my guts out and my legs still seem to be working. Tomorrow may be a different matter.
*If you think a Holiday Inn is bad for a night, try staying in one for a month
**Kids - walking lurgy factories or what?
***I tried and my lungs felt like someone had sewn a cat up inside them****
****Arghh! This blog's been taking over by Mr Stuart
Comments
For years I couldn't run, not because I'm a lazy bastard but because of an arthritic hip (acquired at the tender age of twenty - go figure). Now that I've discovered the wonders of Glucosamine, I can do the running thing and maybe shed a few pounds (or failing that pound a few sheds).
Fuck me, I sound like an old person.
:]#