The Uphill Continuance

See - the bread, as d so rightly said, is not my friend - blood this morning was 7.8.

It's allegedly the Duke of Wellington who said that next to a battle lost, there was nothing so terrible as a battle won. Well I am here to tell you that next to a moany old hatchet-faced git of a relative, there's nothing quite as abominable as a relative brimming with bounciness and vigour and unbridled enthusiasm for the day.

Which is why, having slept almost entirely through my alarm this morning, Ma's enthusiasm for walking around the lake until we were literally blue in the face (damn cold, this week) was...challenging.

Oh also, note to self - remind me to slap my uncle in the face next time I see him...damn, that's supposed to be tomorrow for the gym...alright well maybe not slap him in the face, but at least be surly and miserable to the bugger - last time he was up at Ma's he suggested to her that rather than doing endless revolutions of the lake itself, we should stride out manfully and indeed womanfully into the wider expanses of the park - almost all of which, like almost all of everything in my town, involves almost impossible stretches of uphill.

"Unnff..." I said this morning. "How many revolutions d'you wanna do this morning? Three?"
"More than three!" beamed Ma, with the kind of determination to take the day by the scruff of the neck and throttle it that has quelled stronger men than me.
"Four?" I asked.
"Four and we'll see," she said, then, remembering my uncle's words, she had a visible brainwave.
"How about three, and then up and round the park, and then our fourth one?"
"Greeeeeat..." I unashamedly lied, and we set off. We did the three primary revolutions, and then It loomed. The Uphill Continuance.
"Right," said Ma, striding forward as if Cerberus, the guardian of the underworld, had been keeping her up at night with his howling and she was going to smack him on the noses with a rolled-up newspaper. "On we go...Upward!"

And on we went...upward. I treid not to whinge, honestly I did, but by the end of the apparently never-ending upness, followed by the fourth ungodly revolution, I was fit for nothing.
"There we are," she said as we got back to the car. "That was bracing, wasn't it?"
I grinned. It was largely rictus.

The rest of the day, spent at her place, has been spent in a blue of work of four different sorts, one after the other. The food consumption today hasn't been particularly good - a faux-healthy cooked breakfast, soup and some bread for lunch, a snack of fruit and low-fat yoghurt. On the potential upside, I felt so stuffed by the time I came home, I genuinely haven't felt like anything to eat tonight at all - and I still don't. Presumably there's a lesson in there somewhere about eating earlier in the day.
Whatevs...as I belief the youth are accustomed to saying these days, since they stopped speaking English. Tomorrow is weigh-in day. I had high hopes of course at the last weigh-in that this weigh-in would see me lower and lighter. I no longer have those hopes particularly, after yesterday's breadfest.

But I haven't weighed this week on the sly at all, so tomorrow's result will be a big surprise to me whatever it is. Annnnd cue dramatic music...