I've mentioned before the power of music as a distraction from the pain and the boredom and the otherwise unmitigated misery that exercise can bring for the semi-professional lardarse. Music is mood, and if you're not in the mood, all that's left is the misery.
This was brought home to me today when, to assuage another weekend day largely composed of growing pages on my novel and carbuncles on my ass, I jumped on the bike for another ten mile stint. Today, I didn't go under the influence of my iPod, and so instead watched TV while I peddled what were quite honestly the ten hardest miles I've ever cycled.
We were watching a recording of today's Saturday Kitchen at the time, and while normally I can get into most anything, today, it seemed impossible to get into a groove, or to slide my brain into neutral, so not only was it the hardest ten miles I've ever cycled, it was also the longest and slowest - for the first time, it took me over an hour. I shuffled, I jiggled, I squirmed, and the miles just wouldn't bloody well GO. I'd like to say it was like that nightmare you have where youre running and not really getting anywhere...except of course that's exactly what a stationary exercise bike is supposed to be like.
About 2.5 miles from the end though, I zoned in to what was on screen - hey, someone was making a sticky toffee pudding and toffee sauce, c'mon... - and before I knew what was what, I'd finished. I say again, the best way to exercise is like the best way to get up on stage and sing, or dance, or act - stop thinking about it and just get on and do it.
Oh, and a side-note: When we saw the sticky toffee pudding, d and I groaned together in a mutual lust.
"Mmmm...might just have to go and make one of those..." she murmured.
"Noooooooo..." I begged. "Really? D'ya have to?"
I know, I know, it would have been wonderful to sniff, but right at that moment, seven and a half miles into Hell, it was one temptation too many. Even my bastard-stubbornness has its limits, y'know?! Maybe I should just try and distract myself while she eats it?
Thing is, a TV show about a sticky toffee pudding is perfectly good enough to distract me from pain, suffering and everything else attached to the hideousness of exercise. Without resorting to a glistening, inventive multi-sexual orgy in front of a wall-sized flat-screen showing 80s Doctor Who, and a series of hosts and hostesses handing round nibbles and cocaine, I'm not sure anything on Earth is diverting enough to distract me from a real, hot, steaming, wonderful home-made sticky toffee pudding tonight...
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