Evening, all.
A reasonably perfect straightforward day today - Trail and back this morning, cereal breakfast, goodish, honestish day's work, beans on toast for lunch for a carb-and-protein boost through the afternoon, an hour's biking to coincide with d walking through the door, and then a quick, reinvigorating, not to say warming, shower. Now about to have an egg-based dinner (again for the protein), before going to join my brothers in song for a couple of hours of getting the last verse of Amazing Grace monstrously wrong, and probably checking off what we know and what we sort-of-know for Saturday, when we're all bogging off to Birmingham at the crack of sparrowfart for a concert that evening.
Note for the Americans reading this - no, Birmingham's not that far. Yes, it'll still take us most of the day to get there. The UK is especially gifted at Putting Shit In The Way of people trying to just get to places. Seriously, it's an art form known colloquially as Evil Bastard Town Plannery.
Anyway, so that's the day. It was as I was showering though that I spotted something. Now, relax, I'm not about to go off on an intimately detailed description of myself in the shower...you haven't pissed me off enough for that. But one thing I did notice is that I'm once again getting loose, flappity skin on my upper arms. Having a good old dangle, it was, as I moved the shower puff about the still fairly vast acreage of me.
"Seriously, need to get back in the gym," I decided. "Need to start doing all that weight-pulling and rowing and muscle-growing shite again, to fill up the skin-bags. Cos we've got a British Summer ahead of us, and one good gust of wind right now, and I'll be off like an amateur hang-glider."
So...I have spokeneth. Back to the gym for this Disappearing Man, shortly, to remind my muscles they exist. Hopefuly that'll couter my current somewhat froglike appearance - powerful, toned-as-fuck legs, flappity everywhere else.
To the gym, Disappearing Man!
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