End of Week 1 - The Summary
As you may have gathered, I failed. After taking a much needed rest day on Thursday, and missing a day on Friday due to "conflicting appointments", I believe I may have foolishly said something about getting up early on Saturday and making up for what I'd missed. Yeah, that didn't quite go as planned.
Saturday morning arrived in the form of an 8:15 awakening, and feeling the effects of drinking a lot of the various flavoured vodkas that Revolutions have to offer, I decided to sleep a little while longer, just 15 minutes I told myself. After what felt like a delayed blink, it was now 11:30. I was at this stage an hour late for picking up my father for another day of restoring the mini, so whilst running around the house in half asleep / half hungover fashion, I nailed some ReadyBrek, and uttered something to myself about doing it in the evening instead.
Arriving home at about 9:30 after a relatively successful day of making a lot of noise and mess, I pulled on my running gear, picked up my iPod, and jumped on the treadmill. It was at this moment I knew instantly I'd made a mistake in typing my final words of the previous blog. It was hard from the very beginning, so knowing in full certainty that there wasn't to be a bloody chance I'd last the hour I promised myself, I decided to just run for as long as I could at 11k/h without stopping. This lasted for a rather poxy 9 minutes, and it wasn't even my legs or lungs that let me down. It was the return of my old foe: the stitch. This one was an absolute killer. After the 9 minute mark, I just couldn't take it any longer, so I slowed down to a brisk walking pace. The stitch continued to hurt even through this. After a few minutes, I decided I'd try and run it off, which didn't work at all. I've never been exactly what you'd call soft when it comes to a bit off pain, but the only way I could remain upright when running the last five minutes was to press my fingers firmly into my stomach, and hold them there. There was no way I could keep that up for long, so with one hand pressed into my waist and the other clutching my iPod, looking somewhat like a teapot, I turned the treadmill off, kicked my trainers off, and swore a few times whilst limping downstairs for a fag, feeling somewhat defeated. The pain remained in my gut for a good hour or so after I'd parked my arse in the dent in the sofa.
I had intentionally planned on not doing any running on my weekends as I'm a fairly busy boy, so I'd rather not make any promises to myself which I can't stick to, and Sunday was no exception. Initially planning on spending another full day on the mini, I got called off to go help a friend knock down and rebuild a garden wall. The original wall was succefully toppled all over the footpath in the time it took to make a coffee, and after laying the inital bricks of the new wall, I decided that I was in fact rubbish at bricklaying, so left said friend to it. Being knackered from swinging a big hammer around all day and lugging rubble around, I had no intentions of trying to challenge my stitch to a rematch. The score at the end of week one was officially 3 - 1 in favour of good days.
So, the end of week 1. I have mixed fealings of how the week went. I'm quite pleased with the fact that I managed the first three days without too much fuss, a little dissapointed that I had to take a rest day, and truley pissed off that I succumed to defeat on the Saturday.
I'm not too sure what the plan is going to be for week two, but I better hurry up and decide, as this begins tonight.
Monday 24 August 2009
Thursday 20 August 2009
This is not the downward spiral
Not a right lot to write about tonight, as I decided not to do any running today. I'm genuinely not making excuses, this is not the slippery slope to failure, I could not have run for 2 minutes tonight, let alone the 45 I'd promised myself. So rather than try and hurt myself further, I have decided to have a rest day.
The problems is however, that I wont be able to do any tomorrow either, as unfortunately, my social life has got in the way. To make up for this, a little bit, I'll be walking to work tomorrow, and I'll get up early on Saturday morning to make up for what I'll miss tomorrow. I'll even up the time slot, to an hour, and hangover or no hangover, I will not fail.
The problems is however, that I wont be able to do any tomorrow either, as unfortunately, my social life has got in the way. To make up for this, a little bit, I'll be walking to work tomorrow, and I'll get up early on Saturday morning to make up for what I'll miss tomorrow. I'll even up the time slot, to an hour, and hangover or no hangover, I will not fail.
To rest, or not to rest, that is the question...
Week 1, Day 3.
I didn't do a blog last night because I was just too knackered to after I'd finished, but once again, I surprised myself and lasted the session out. Then I ate some sheppard's pie, and fell asleep.
Earlier in the day I was worrying that I might not be able to, as the old pins were feeling the abuse which they have rather cruelly and suddenly been subjected to the previous two days. Once again, I decide that doing at least a little bit was better than doing nothing at all, so begrudgingly limped my way upstairs and onto the treadmill. It was painful throughout, but once I was on there and away, It seemed more effort to admit to quitting, than to plod on. Eventually, after what felt like hours, the 45 minutes were up.
So thus far the scores work out to be Good Days - 3, Bad Days - 0. The downside to last nights achievement is that today I am most definitely in pain. I'm considering giving it a miss tonight all together, the logic being that it's surely better to miss one night, rather than risk injury by forcing myself? I really don't want to pull a muscle because I think that will cost me about three days, possibly more. I'm not sure, I'll see how I feel later on I guess. Either that, or HMC will shout at me and I'll do as I'm told.
Does taking a rest day count as failing this weeks plan?
I didn't do a blog last night because I was just too knackered to after I'd finished, but once again, I surprised myself and lasted the session out. Then I ate some sheppard's pie, and fell asleep.
Earlier in the day I was worrying that I might not be able to, as the old pins were feeling the abuse which they have rather cruelly and suddenly been subjected to the previous two days. Once again, I decide that doing at least a little bit was better than doing nothing at all, so begrudgingly limped my way upstairs and onto the treadmill. It was painful throughout, but once I was on there and away, It seemed more effort to admit to quitting, than to plod on. Eventually, after what felt like hours, the 45 minutes were up.
So thus far the scores work out to be Good Days - 3, Bad Days - 0. The downside to last nights achievement is that today I am most definitely in pain. I'm considering giving it a miss tonight all together, the logic being that it's surely better to miss one night, rather than risk injury by forcing myself? I really don't want to pull a muscle because I think that will cost me about three days, possibly more. I'm not sure, I'll see how I feel later on I guess. Either that, or HMC will shout at me and I'll do as I'm told.
Does taking a rest day count as failing this weeks plan?
Wednesday 19 August 2009
Psychic Reading? I'm not sold.
A guy at the place I said I wouldn’t talk about considers himself to be somewhat of a Medium, and initially in attempt to make some money one the side, was offering email Tarot card readings for a small price. Getting nothing much by way of response, he then changed this offer to free of charge, to get some practise in. Being a tight fisted Northerner with the logic of "owt for nowt", and seeing an opportunity to confirm my beliefs without actually having to pay for the privilege, I put my name down. Here's what I received in response;
"Hi,
Ok so 5 minutes of time lets go for it ;)
I pulled 3 cards for you
1. 2 of swords.
Ok this card deals with balance in all things and kinda points in you wanting a better balance in life now this is not monetary balance (although it would be nice)
It also deals with a want for justice and you being very fair minded, now they say justice is blind although in your case I feel that you have thought that justice wasn’t only blind but pointing in the wrong direction.
2. 10 of pentacles.
Now this card looks at relationships and I kinda felt that you have been feeling as if you have been kind of given a cold shoulder and you want to turn the clock back to a time when you were happier. This is also a mystical card and shows that side of you that wants to know more about life in general. I am also sensing something of a deep question on your mind, something you have been asking yourself over and over.
3. 6 of wands.
Now this card is looking at a more physical side as I felt you have been kinda preparing yourself for combat, I sensed a verbal heated discussion where you could achieve no resolution and still kicking yourself for not phrasing things differently. Looking at this card it also shows a celebration approaching this I felt is a big celebration so something special there too.
Regards,"
I'm not convinced, I find myself trying to assign relevance to the reading, rather than the reading actually having relevance. Some of it may be along the right lines, but I'm sure the same could be said of just about anyone, it's quite generic, almost to the point of being given. Some of it has absolutely no relevance what so ever, or at least none that I can presently see. Some of it is just untrue. Although I try to remain open minded, I can't help feeling quite sceptical. I'm just glad I didn’t part with my hard earned cash!
Back on topic - I'm not feeling too confident about tonight's run (but then, I said this last night too, and look what happened there!), legs feel particularly tight today, I'm almost at limping point just walking around. I'll let you know how I get on later.
Tuesday 18 August 2009
So, when does it start getting easier?
Week 1, Day 2.
Yesterday I said something about being satisfied with myself. Today I'm definitely proud of myself. The reason for this sense of pride is simple: I was going to cancel tonight all together. I was feeling quite tired from yesterdays achievement, my legs have felt a little tired all day, just walking a flight of stairs was effort enough. Then a friend called asking if I fancied a pint. Does the Pope shit in the woods? (no, I don't get it either, but apparently it means yes).
I decided to cancel the invite of the pint, and at least do something on the treadmill, with the idea that doing a bit was better than doing nothing at all, but feeling tired, a bit hungry, and having a tight achilles tendon, I wasn't feeling too confident about managing the full 45 minutes, realistically I was expecting maybe 15 - 20 minutes. To my surprise and delight, I did it, the full 45minutes, no cheating or anything. God knows how, but I did.
Today was harder and easier than yesterday in equal proportions. Obviously feeling tired, it was more of a mental effort to get through than anything. On the plus side, no stitch today! I'm obviously going to have good days and bad days alike. Today was what I'd consider to be a good day. I'll see what tomorrow brings.
Yesterday I said something about being satisfied with myself. Today I'm definitely proud of myself. The reason for this sense of pride is simple: I was going to cancel tonight all together. I was feeling quite tired from yesterdays achievement, my legs have felt a little tired all day, just walking a flight of stairs was effort enough. Then a friend called asking if I fancied a pint. Does the Pope shit in the woods? (no, I don't get it either, but apparently it means yes).
I decided to cancel the invite of the pint, and at least do something on the treadmill, with the idea that doing a bit was better than doing nothing at all, but feeling tired, a bit hungry, and having a tight achilles tendon, I wasn't feeling too confident about managing the full 45 minutes, realistically I was expecting maybe 15 - 20 minutes. To my surprise and delight, I did it, the full 45minutes, no cheating or anything. God knows how, but I did.
Today was harder and easier than yesterday in equal proportions. Obviously feeling tired, it was more of a mental effort to get through than anything. On the plus side, no stitch today! I'm obviously going to have good days and bad days alike. Today was what I'd consider to be a good day. I'll see what tomorrow brings.
Monday 17 August 2009
Week 1, Day 1.
Alright, I'm going to cut to the chase, and be honest from the very start. That was hard. Having just sat down from my session on the treadmill, as I write this, I am well and truly knackered.
I got dressed into my running gear, did a few stretches, and began the warm up. All was fine, well, what could possibly go wrong at this stage - apart from nearly falling off the back of the treadmill due to not paying attention the the placement of my feet, whilst shuffling through my iPod . Started the first of the 5 minute runs, shins got very warm almost immediately, but all was still fine. Before I knew it, the 5 minutes were up and I'd barely broken into a sweat. A minute or so into the walking 5 minutes, and I was thinking to myself that a whole five minutes for an active breather might be a bit too much, I was even considering cutting this down to three minutes as from tomorrow. Second lot of 5 minutes runs, sweating a fair bit now, must concentrate on breathing. Was glad for the next lot of walking, however 5 minutes still seemed excessive.
Up came the next running session, and at 18minutes, the calling card of an old foe arrived - the stitch. Lodged firmly under a rib, this was clearly here to stay. Tried altering my breathing, had a little gulp of water, even tried burping it off but to no avail. My old foe was here for the duration. I was really looking forward to a walk by the end of it. Next lot of running, and my old foe had invited some friends - a few more little stitches cropped up, but still taking centre place was the main one just under my ribs. I've got to admit, I was considering quitting at this stage, but the thought of admitting to failing whilst writing this wasn't appealing, especially after, in a previous blog, I stupidly and somewhat cockily said something along the lines of feeling "confident" that I could achieve this weeks plan. I even considered a compromise: "I'll just walk the remaining time, at least I'm getting some exercise" I tried to convince myself, but realising I'd have to admit to that too, I plodded onwards, bearing a funny face. Next up, 5 minutes of walking, which was gone by the time I'd managed to regain my eyesight after rather foolishly rubbing sweat into them. Which hurt. Last 5 minutes were coming up, and at this stage, only one thing was going to get me through: The Prodigy.
I was so glad that it was all over, but at the same time strangely satisfied that I'd managed to stick to the plan without quitting when things got hard. My legs felt a little wobbly, and my achilles tendon feels a bit tight, but I realised that all the way through the run, I hadn't thought about my legs once, the stitch family had taken my full attention, so in a funny kind of way, there may be hope for me yet.
OTHER STUFF THAT I'VE DONE
The weekend arrived. I always look forward to my weekends, not just because they end my association what that place which earlier I said I'd refuse to blog about, but because they are mine, to do with as I please. They make it all seem worthwhile. This particular weekend was mainly filled with time spent at my mothers house, working on my Mini. I wont go into detail here, as seriously, I could talk all day about this, so, as to not clutter this blog too badly, I started another here, for those remotely interested. I did take a break from this to fix a neighbours car, which was suffering from suspected seized brakes. Turns out they weren't seized, just completely worn out, indicating that the previous mechanic at a certain national chain garage, whom I shall refrain from naming (sounds like milk oh rotor wave), did not replace them at the last service, as the receipt would suggest. Naughty naughty.
Saturday night brought with it the monthly event that is The Wendy House, a Goth / Metal club night held at the Leeds University Refectory building. Three words can summarise Wendy House perfectly. Leather. Tits. Fishnets. Seriously, check the pictures.
Sunday, more work on the Mini, realisation that tomorrow, normal service resumes. Depression kicks in.
I got dressed into my running gear, did a few stretches, and began the warm up. All was fine, well, what could possibly go wrong at this stage - apart from nearly falling off the back of the treadmill due to not paying attention the the placement of my feet, whilst shuffling through my iPod . Started the first of the 5 minute runs, shins got very warm almost immediately, but all was still fine. Before I knew it, the 5 minutes were up and I'd barely broken into a sweat. A minute or so into the walking 5 minutes, and I was thinking to myself that a whole five minutes for an active breather might be a bit too much, I was even considering cutting this down to three minutes as from tomorrow. Second lot of 5 minutes runs, sweating a fair bit now, must concentrate on breathing. Was glad for the next lot of walking, however 5 minutes still seemed excessive.
Up came the next running session, and at 18minutes, the calling card of an old foe arrived - the stitch. Lodged firmly under a rib, this was clearly here to stay. Tried altering my breathing, had a little gulp of water, even tried burping it off but to no avail. My old foe was here for the duration. I was really looking forward to a walk by the end of it. Next lot of running, and my old foe had invited some friends - a few more little stitches cropped up, but still taking centre place was the main one just under my ribs. I've got to admit, I was considering quitting at this stage, but the thought of admitting to failing whilst writing this wasn't appealing, especially after, in a previous blog, I stupidly and somewhat cockily said something along the lines of feeling "confident" that I could achieve this weeks plan. I even considered a compromise: "I'll just walk the remaining time, at least I'm getting some exercise" I tried to convince myself, but realising I'd have to admit to that too, I plodded onwards, bearing a funny face. Next up, 5 minutes of walking, which was gone by the time I'd managed to regain my eyesight after rather foolishly rubbing sweat into them. Which hurt. Last 5 minutes were coming up, and at this stage, only one thing was going to get me through: The Prodigy.
I was so glad that it was all over, but at the same time strangely satisfied that I'd managed to stick to the plan without quitting when things got hard. My legs felt a little wobbly, and my achilles tendon feels a bit tight, but I realised that all the way through the run, I hadn't thought about my legs once, the stitch family had taken my full attention, so in a funny kind of way, there may be hope for me yet.
OTHER STUFF THAT I'VE DONE
The weekend arrived. I always look forward to my weekends, not just because they end my association what that place which earlier I said I'd refuse to blog about, but because they are mine, to do with as I please. They make it all seem worthwhile. This particular weekend was mainly filled with time spent at my mothers house, working on my Mini. I wont go into detail here, as seriously, I could talk all day about this, so, as to not clutter this blog too badly, I started another here, for those remotely interested. I did take a break from this to fix a neighbours car, which was suffering from suspected seized brakes. Turns out they weren't seized, just completely worn out, indicating that the previous mechanic at a certain national chain garage, whom I shall refrain from naming (sounds like milk oh rotor wave), did not replace them at the last service, as the receipt would suggest. Naughty naughty.
Saturday night brought with it the monthly event that is The Wendy House, a Goth / Metal club night held at the Leeds University Refectory building. Three words can summarise Wendy House perfectly. Leather. Tits. Fishnets. Seriously, check the pictures.
Sunday, more work on the Mini, realisation that tomorrow, normal service resumes. Depression kicks in.
Friday 14 August 2009
The real plan... sort of...
I've been pondering this plan all day now. The challenge itself is relatively simple: to get just fit enough to last a short run, in 8 weeks. You'd think putting a plan together would be simple, right? Well, no, it turns out, it isn't.
So what I've decided to do, is not come up with a plan. Nope, I'm not quitting already, the objective remains unchanged, I've just decided not to do a plan. Not a proper plan at least. In my somewhat finite wisdom, I decided I'm going to get back to basics, and break the problem down into smaller, more manageable problems, just as all good loan consolidation adverts tell me to. The first problem was coming up with an 8 week plan that I could stick to, and not knowing how the first week of the plan would go, how could I possibly dictate the requirements of my plan for week 8?
Well, as I write this, a bombshell has just been dropped, and has firmly landed. It turns out I've failed almost immediately. My plan was supposed to be an eight week plan. As I sat here last night, writing my first blog, I'd convinced myself that I have 8 weeks to get fit. Well, I don't. After consulting an actual calendar, rather than using my fingers and thumbs to work out the dates, it has emerged that I actually have 7 weeks. The big day is on the 3rd of October. 7 weeks away, not 8. Fantastic. I've just lost a whole week, I feel robbed, cheated!! This just goes to show that no good can come from calendars, which is exactly why, even though I receive one most years for Christmas, I never put them up.
On the plus side, this does highlight my point about not making a full plan, because at this stage I would have had to bin it and start all over again. Well, not to worry, I'll just have to work a little harder with each of my weekly plans.
I've decided that my plan for week 1 will be relatively simple, not too simple, but one that I'm quite confident that I can do without too much fuss. The logic behind this is that once I've determined how I've done in the first week, I can then amend the plan to suit the second week, and so on.
But before I go into finer detail of the plan, and in a very shallow attempt to buy a little time to really come up with a plan, rather than waffle on about why I haven't done a plan (it's not a cop out, it's legitimate logic!), allow me to show you what I will use to achieve the goal:
Here's what I'll be training in; my indoor running shoes, which were initially purchased as gym shoes, when I actually used to go to one. I've since moved house, which is further away from said gym, and have real bills and stuff to pay now, so this was a good enough reason [excuse] to stop going and cancel my membership. I have been meaning to sign up to a local council gym, but yes, you guessed correctly, I just haven't got round to it, yet.
And here's what I'll be training on, my housemates treadmill. No need to go into detail here, I'm sure you all know what one is and what it does. This particular model is a top of the range Kirsty Gallagher item, purchased by my housemate from the specialist fitness retailers, Argos. Features include an analogue speed knob, variable incline settings (1, 2 or 3, set by adjusting the height of the rear feet) and a heart rate monitor which blatantly tell massive fibs. But, not to complain (mainly for fear that said housemate will revoke the offer), it beats running outside around these parts, where, dressed in my rather chavtastic outdoor trainers, I'm likely to be chased by the West Yorkshire constabulary under suspicion of robbery.
Ok, so I successfully wasted a bit of time, and in waiting for my phone to transfer the photos to the laptop, I think I've come up with a plan. A real one..
THE REAL PLAN (Week 1)
It's a bit of a compromise is the the first week. I need to make sure I keep it achievable, yet testing, so that I can use the results to come up with a plan for the second week. The plan is to train five nights a week, Monday to Friday. I had initially decided that I'd do sessions of half an hour to begin with, but since I've just lost a whole week, I'll have to work a little harder, so I'm going to set a target of 45 minutes per session. I know at this stage, that I cannot run solidly for 45 minutes, I'll have to build up to that, so I'll have to break the 45 minutes into 5 minute intervals which will, in the words of Run DMC, go a little something like this;
I'll keep posts frequent as to my progress through the week, and use these to determine what the plan will be for week 2. At this stage, I anticipate that week 2 will be much of the same, just upping the run periods, and reducing the rests... but we'll see...
Wish me luck!!
So what I've decided to do, is not come up with a plan. Nope, I'm not quitting already, the objective remains unchanged, I've just decided not to do a plan. Not a proper plan at least. In my somewhat finite wisdom, I decided I'm going to get back to basics, and break the problem down into smaller, more manageable problems, just as all good loan consolidation adverts tell me to. The first problem was coming up with an 8 week plan that I could stick to, and not knowing how the first week of the plan would go, how could I possibly dictate the requirements of my plan for week 8?
Well, as I write this, a bombshell has just been dropped, and has firmly landed. It turns out I've failed almost immediately. My plan was supposed to be an eight week plan. As I sat here last night, writing my first blog, I'd convinced myself that I have 8 weeks to get fit. Well, I don't. After consulting an actual calendar, rather than using my fingers and thumbs to work out the dates, it has emerged that I actually have 7 weeks. The big day is on the 3rd of October. 7 weeks away, not 8. Fantastic. I've just lost a whole week, I feel robbed, cheated!! This just goes to show that no good can come from calendars, which is exactly why, even though I receive one most years for Christmas, I never put them up.
On the plus side, this does highlight my point about not making a full plan, because at this stage I would have had to bin it and start all over again. Well, not to worry, I'll just have to work a little harder with each of my weekly plans.
I've decided that my plan for week 1 will be relatively simple, not too simple, but one that I'm quite confident that I can do without too much fuss. The logic behind this is that once I've determined how I've done in the first week, I can then amend the plan to suit the second week, and so on.
But before I go into finer detail of the plan, and in a very shallow attempt to buy a little time to really come up with a plan, rather than waffle on about why I haven't done a plan (it's not a cop out, it's legitimate logic!), allow me to show you what I will use to achieve the goal:
Here's what I'll be training in; my indoor running shoes, which were initially purchased as gym shoes, when I actually used to go to one. I've since moved house, which is further away from said gym, and have real bills and stuff to pay now, so this was a good enough reason [excuse] to stop going and cancel my membership. I have been meaning to sign up to a local council gym, but yes, you guessed correctly, I just haven't got round to it, yet.
And here's what I'll be training on, my housemates treadmill. No need to go into detail here, I'm sure you all know what one is and what it does. This particular model is a top of the range Kirsty Gallagher item, purchased by my housemate from the specialist fitness retailers, Argos. Features include an analogue speed knob, variable incline settings (1, 2 or 3, set by adjusting the height of the rear feet) and a heart rate monitor which blatantly tell massive fibs. But, not to complain (mainly for fear that said housemate will revoke the offer), it beats running outside around these parts, where, dressed in my rather chavtastic outdoor trainers, I'm likely to be chased by the West Yorkshire constabulary under suspicion of robbery.Ok, so I successfully wasted a bit of time, and in waiting for my phone to transfer the photos to the laptop, I think I've come up with a plan. A real one..
THE REAL PLAN (Week 1)
It's a bit of a compromise is the the first week. I need to make sure I keep it achievable, yet testing, so that I can use the results to come up with a plan for the second week. The plan is to train five nights a week, Monday to Friday. I had initially decided that I'd do sessions of half an hour to begin with, but since I've just lost a whole week, I'll have to work a little harder, so I'm going to set a target of 45 minutes per session. I know at this stage, that I cannot run solidly for 45 minutes, I'll have to build up to that, so I'll have to break the 45 minutes into 5 minute intervals which will, in the words of Run DMC, go a little something like this;
- 5 minute warm up, slow walk at 6km/h
- 5 minute run at 11 km/h
- 5minute active rest, brisk walk at 7km/h
- 5minute run at 11km/h
- 5minute active rest, brisk walk at 7km/h
- 5minute run at 11km/h
- 5minute active rest, brisk walk at 7km/h
- 5minute run at 11km/h
- 5minute cool down, starting at 7km/h and reducing one click every two minutes
I'll keep posts frequent as to my progress through the week, and use these to determine what the plan will be for week 2. At this stage, I anticipate that week 2 will be much of the same, just upping the run periods, and reducing the rests... but we'll see...
Wish me luck!!
Thursday 13 August 2009
Confessions of a sofa lover
Never being one for lengthy introductions, and safe in the knowledge that at this moment in time, I have no readers therefore the need for one being completely negated, I'll get straight to the point.
THE POINT:
Ok, the point. Well, before I get to the point, I thought I'd share with you an observation of mine, and knowing me, probably detract from the point quite severely before getting back to the point, but I promise, at some point, there will be a point to be made. So this observation of mine, it seems there is one thing we all have in common. Regardless of age, sex, race, class, colour and indeed creed, one thing is universal: Assumption. Everybody does it, some people will deny that they do it, but they do. In most cases, it is generally safe to assume. We go to bed at night assuming that we will wake up in the morning. We assume day will follow night, and thus far, it always has done, therefore we assume the same will happen tomorrow. We safely assume all sorts of things, but I've made my point I believe (not the point I promised, just a mid point... point. Bear with me) so I'll continue.
Now, assuming (you see, even I do it) that you do not know me, you may read the title of this blog and assume I'm fat. Well, I'm not. I'm not even kind of fat, nor am I chubby under the disillusion that it is muscle. Nope, I'm a human rake. I mean properly thin. I'm just a tad shy of 6'3'', and weigh in at 10.5 stone, fully clothed, PWT [Northern acronym; piss wet through], with a body fat count of 8%. Yep, skinny AND lanky. Great.
Now, people also assume that because I am thin, that I am fit. Apparently, the two come hand in hand. Well let me tell you that they do not! I'm not fit, I mean I'm not wheezily unfit, I don't collapse after walking a flight of stairs, for example, but I'm certainly a country mile away from being actually fit. My idea of a personal challenge usually involves an end of level boss, or finding something to watch that doesn't have me pushing my thumbs into my eyeballs out of the 760 channels of utter guff that Virgin have to offer. Can you assume that because I am thin, I eat well, or little? No you most certainly can not! My weekly diet generally involves at least one take-away and a trip to McDonalds, interspersed with cooked meals (and I use the term cooked very loosely) which are mainly carbs and fat, or potato based. Lets use this week as an example, and bare in mind it's only Thursday, but I have eaten pizza for the last three nights running, with the other "meals" being purchased from the canteen at my place of work, and let me assure you, there wasn't an ounce of health in anything being sold there. I'm not proud of my diet, but nor do I presently care enough to change it. Quite simply, food to me is the means to an end, it prevents me from dropping dead, and that's it. How am I so thin when I eat such rubbish I hear (imagine) you ask? Well my imaginary friends, that would be down to the miracle that is my hyperactive thyroid. And god bless the marvelous gland, for the rest of me is a disaster waiting to happen.
On top of this I also smoke, not a lot, but I do smoke - unless my grandad asks, in which case, I was just holding it for someone, and god help me if he ever finds out because I have actually lied, to his face might I add, and categorically stated that I do not.
Oh, I drink too. Not enough to go into detail about, just thought that I would throw that one in too.
So that's my point, and if you've accidentally stumbled upon this blog in search for something far more interesting and have made it to this stage, then firstly hello there, and congratulations, I was even beginning to bore myself, but I can assure you that it will not get any more interesting, so you may wish to turn around and go back out the way you came in. So quick recap: Skinny. Unfit. Eat rubbish. Smoke. Which just about leads me to the next point (I fear I may be starting to over use this word), the purpose.
THE PURPOSE
Well, the purpose of the blog is quite simple really. It's purely because my friend has one, and I like it, and I wanted my own. Yes, it seems I have not grown up one bit, I see something that someone else has, and I want one too. I don't mind admitting that, I'm not proud.
The blog will serve me at least some form of purpose, and also explains the above point a little better. Initially, it will be used to write about something I rather stupidly volunteered to do. I didn't even volunteer out of pressure. No, I even suggested it myself.
This suggestion comes in the the form of going for a run with my friend, whom I shall refer only to as HMC, for reasons of protecting his identity should he wish to remain anonymous for fear of embarrassment through association. That is, at least, until he is dragging my corpse behind whilst on this run.
Now this run, it shouldn't be a big deal, but I am genuinely pooing myself at the mere thought of it. You see, HMC is currently training for a half marathon and aims to complete this in a sub 1.50minute time, where as I myself refuse to even run for a bus. There'll be another one in 20 minutes, no need to break a sweat is there. As we have ascertained at this point, I am quite unfit, and fear that I may not be able to complete this run. Now, I'm not concerned with HMC doing better than me on this run, because I know full well that he will do better than me. I'm scared I'll die attempting to keep up.
Realistically, there is no need to get so worked up about something so trivial. For normal people. I myself am not normal, and I'm not talking about how unfit I am at this stage. I'm talking about how ridiculously competitive I am. I'm the most competitive person I know, and HMC brings the absolute worst bit of this out of me. Between myself and HMC, after a good night on the sauce, we came up with as what can only be described as the London Leapfrog Championship, which consisted of leapfrogging everything in sight, from parking meters, to bollards, to postboxes. This continued on the journey home, followed by tube surfing, and racing up a down escalator whilst trying to pull each other backwards. This of course ended with, as well as many many laughs, injuries. HMC had a cut on his head, and I had severe bruising to what can only be explained as the groinal regions.
I'm not overly bothered that HMC will royally show me up, barely breaking a sweat where as I am trying to prevent vomit from escaping through my nostrils, but the thought of not being able to complete a short run, when my only competitor is myself, will really frustrate me. I should be fit enough to last a short run, and dammit I will last a short run, even if it kills me!
So the purpose of this blog is to give updates on my progress as I attempt to get just fit enough to last what for HMC will be a leisurely stroll in the park, and hopefully will serve as some form of motivation. Now knowing me, I dare say I'll lose my train of though a few times along the way, and before I know it, will be pebbledashed with random musings, rants, other crap that I've done / need to do / didn't do, and pictures of my frequently acquired injuries. For some reason, I bleed. A lot. I'm forever acquiring wounds, I actually think my body produces too much blood, and feels the need to dispense it at random intervals, by means of interfering with my brainwaves, and making me slip whilst I'm wielding potentially digit severing tools. I think I lose on average a pint of blood a week. If only I donated, I could save myself the hassle. The one thing however that I absolutely refuse to blog about, is work, for fear that I may get wound up and smash my freebie CarPhoneWarehouse laptop to little pieces.
Anyway, progress. I can't blog about my progress if I'm not doing anything to blog about after all, so hopefully this will encourage me to peel my backside out of the dent I've made in the sofa, and get training. All I need is a good plan...
THE PLAN
Right, here's the plan. First, we go in there and get wrecked, then we eat a pork pie, then we drop some Surmontil-50's each. That way we'll miss out on Monday and come up smiling Tuesday morning.
Ok ok, so a Withnail & I quote won't quite cut the mustard, but the problem is readers (hello mum!), I don't currently have a plan. Not yet at least. What I do have however, is time. A little bit. 8 weeks from this point, to be exact. Crap. I do actually own some running shoes, real ones, and I have used them before, literally twice this year! I also have access to a treadmill, thanks to my housemate. So with the aforementioned items, and a little ingenuity, I'm sure I can come up with a plan... I'll need some time for that though... I'll get back to you with a plan.
THE POINT:
Ok, the point. Well, before I get to the point, I thought I'd share with you an observation of mine, and knowing me, probably detract from the point quite severely before getting back to the point, but I promise, at some point, there will be a point to be made. So this observation of mine, it seems there is one thing we all have in common. Regardless of age, sex, race, class, colour and indeed creed, one thing is universal: Assumption. Everybody does it, some people will deny that they do it, but they do. In most cases, it is generally safe to assume. We go to bed at night assuming that we will wake up in the morning. We assume day will follow night, and thus far, it always has done, therefore we assume the same will happen tomorrow. We safely assume all sorts of things, but I've made my point I believe (not the point I promised, just a mid point... point. Bear with me) so I'll continue.
Now, assuming (you see, even I do it) that you do not know me, you may read the title of this blog and assume I'm fat. Well, I'm not. I'm not even kind of fat, nor am I chubby under the disillusion that it is muscle. Nope, I'm a human rake. I mean properly thin. I'm just a tad shy of 6'3'', and weigh in at 10.5 stone, fully clothed, PWT [Northern acronym; piss wet through], with a body fat count of 8%. Yep, skinny AND lanky. Great.
Now, people also assume that because I am thin, that I am fit. Apparently, the two come hand in hand. Well let me tell you that they do not! I'm not fit, I mean I'm not wheezily unfit, I don't collapse after walking a flight of stairs, for example, but I'm certainly a country mile away from being actually fit. My idea of a personal challenge usually involves an end of level boss, or finding something to watch that doesn't have me pushing my thumbs into my eyeballs out of the 760 channels of utter guff that Virgin have to offer. Can you assume that because I am thin, I eat well, or little? No you most certainly can not! My weekly diet generally involves at least one take-away and a trip to McDonalds, interspersed with cooked meals (and I use the term cooked very loosely) which are mainly carbs and fat, or potato based. Lets use this week as an example, and bare in mind it's only Thursday, but I have eaten pizza for the last three nights running, with the other "meals" being purchased from the canteen at my place of work, and let me assure you, there wasn't an ounce of health in anything being sold there. I'm not proud of my diet, but nor do I presently care enough to change it. Quite simply, food to me is the means to an end, it prevents me from dropping dead, and that's it. How am I so thin when I eat such rubbish I hear (imagine) you ask? Well my imaginary friends, that would be down to the miracle that is my hyperactive thyroid. And god bless the marvelous gland, for the rest of me is a disaster waiting to happen.
On top of this I also smoke, not a lot, but I do smoke - unless my grandad asks, in which case, I was just holding it for someone, and god help me if he ever finds out because I have actually lied, to his face might I add, and categorically stated that I do not.
Oh, I drink too. Not enough to go into detail about, just thought that I would throw that one in too.
So that's my point, and if you've accidentally stumbled upon this blog in search for something far more interesting and have made it to this stage, then firstly hello there, and congratulations, I was even beginning to bore myself, but I can assure you that it will not get any more interesting, so you may wish to turn around and go back out the way you came in. So quick recap: Skinny. Unfit. Eat rubbish. Smoke. Which just about leads me to the next point (I fear I may be starting to over use this word), the purpose.
THE PURPOSE
Well, the purpose of the blog is quite simple really. It's purely because my friend has one, and I like it, and I wanted my own. Yes, it seems I have not grown up one bit, I see something that someone else has, and I want one too. I don't mind admitting that, I'm not proud.
The blog will serve me at least some form of purpose, and also explains the above point a little better. Initially, it will be used to write about something I rather stupidly volunteered to do. I didn't even volunteer out of pressure. No, I even suggested it myself.
This suggestion comes in the the form of going for a run with my friend, whom I shall refer only to as HMC, for reasons of protecting his identity should he wish to remain anonymous for fear of embarrassment through association. That is, at least, until he is dragging my corpse behind whilst on this run.
Now this run, it shouldn't be a big deal, but I am genuinely pooing myself at the mere thought of it. You see, HMC is currently training for a half marathon and aims to complete this in a sub 1.50minute time, where as I myself refuse to even run for a bus. There'll be another one in 20 minutes, no need to break a sweat is there. As we have ascertained at this point, I am quite unfit, and fear that I may not be able to complete this run. Now, I'm not concerned with HMC doing better than me on this run, because I know full well that he will do better than me. I'm scared I'll die attempting to keep up.
Realistically, there is no need to get so worked up about something so trivial. For normal people. I myself am not normal, and I'm not talking about how unfit I am at this stage. I'm talking about how ridiculously competitive I am. I'm the most competitive person I know, and HMC brings the absolute worst bit of this out of me. Between myself and HMC, after a good night on the sauce, we came up with as what can only be described as the London Leapfrog Championship, which consisted of leapfrogging everything in sight, from parking meters, to bollards, to postboxes. This continued on the journey home, followed by tube surfing, and racing up a down escalator whilst trying to pull each other backwards. This of course ended with, as well as many many laughs, injuries. HMC had a cut on his head, and I had severe bruising to what can only be explained as the groinal regions.
I'm not overly bothered that HMC will royally show me up, barely breaking a sweat where as I am trying to prevent vomit from escaping through my nostrils, but the thought of not being able to complete a short run, when my only competitor is myself, will really frustrate me. I should be fit enough to last a short run, and dammit I will last a short run, even if it kills me!
So the purpose of this blog is to give updates on my progress as I attempt to get just fit enough to last what for HMC will be a leisurely stroll in the park, and hopefully will serve as some form of motivation. Now knowing me, I dare say I'll lose my train of though a few times along the way, and before I know it, will be pebbledashed with random musings, rants, other crap that I've done / need to do / didn't do, and pictures of my frequently acquired injuries. For some reason, I bleed. A lot. I'm forever acquiring wounds, I actually think my body produces too much blood, and feels the need to dispense it at random intervals, by means of interfering with my brainwaves, and making me slip whilst I'm wielding potentially digit severing tools. I think I lose on average a pint of blood a week. If only I donated, I could save myself the hassle. The one thing however that I absolutely refuse to blog about, is work, for fear that I may get wound up and smash my freebie CarPhoneWarehouse laptop to little pieces.
Anyway, progress. I can't blog about my progress if I'm not doing anything to blog about after all, so hopefully this will encourage me to peel my backside out of the dent I've made in the sofa, and get training. All I need is a good plan...
THE PLAN
Right, here's the plan. First, we go in there and get wrecked, then we eat a pork pie, then we drop some Surmontil-50's each. That way we'll miss out on Monday and come up smiling Tuesday morning.
Ok ok, so a Withnail & I quote won't quite cut the mustard, but the problem is readers (hello mum!), I don't currently have a plan. Not yet at least. What I do have however, is time. A little bit. 8 weeks from this point, to be exact. Crap. I do actually own some running shoes, real ones, and I have used them before, literally twice this year! I also have access to a treadmill, thanks to my housemate. So with the aforementioned items, and a little ingenuity, I'm sure I can come up with a plan... I'll need some time for that though... I'll get back to you with a plan.
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