Don’t get mad, get ever-so slightly sweaty says The Lazy Journalist

Steve Holloway
Steve Holloway

Break out the bunting, kill the fatted calf, and fill the air with hats – I’ve had a good week at the gym!

A wise and dear friend recently pointed out that this column has become more about the whiny excuses of why I haven’t been to the gym rather than tales of athletic derring-do.

This somewhat spurred me on, and the past few days have seen the first consecutive gym visits, and more importantly, decent sessions which ended in sweat and endorphins, rather than disappointment and self-recrimination.

The spur which pushed me out of the lazy-pants zone was actually a piece of malfunctioning office equipment.

I try to approach these things mindfully. What’s the point in getting angry with a PC monitor which has given up the ghost after my knee gently bumped the desk?

I try but the reality is an utterly pointless blizzard of the coarsest of Anglo-Saxon invective and a two-hour strop.

Fortunately, I put it to good use and stropped over to the King Alfred gym to get down and sweaty.

In recent weeks my gym game has been lame. Amid a few stresses and strains I’ve had problems raising my heartbeat and my interest levels. It’s not a fantastic feeling to schlep all the way to gym only to find there’s nothing in the metaphorical tank, physically, and mentally.

But this week I’ve put in some reasonable time on the cardiovascular machines, combined with my usual trick of stomping around town, and a couple of bike rides.

The stepper/cross-trainer hybrid machine is still my favourite, as I’ve said before, it’s about as close as I can get to running for a decent amount of time without annoying my wonky old back.

So, things are afoot and I’m feeling a bit better for it.

There was also good news health wise. Against all expectations, middle-aged health scare number two, the self-induced one, is now slightly less of an issue.

It’s not exactly vanquished but currently becalmed. So that was all very positive.

Food wise, it’s been a mixed bag. I’m trying to overturn my mid-summer slump and steer myself away from the old lardy favourites. In recent weeks I’ve eaten as much red meat as a Siberian tiger, and definitely more black pudding.

As Tom @tdanks Tweets every time there’s a mini-heatwave: “Looks like I picked the wrong week to open my chunky knitwear and casserole emporium.” I’m similarly out of synch with salad and need to get some more summer greenery down my neck.

And given some of the more downbeat economic predictions, if I wait too long, there’s might not be so much out-of-season salad to be had...

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