OK, so let's reflect here. Tuesday, I managed, against all the odds, to lose a mysterious pound, and made a kind of silent vow that I meant to share with you, but never did, to really knuckle down and capitalise on the loss this week.
Since Tuesday?
Utter shite. Indian meal, Jamie's Italian yesterday, including half a dessert plank (Not to self - never, ever eat anything off a plank again. Most especially not desserts. The plank is for the whack upside the head it gives you when the sugar hits). Exercise? A couple of longish but nothing-special walks with Ma. The exercise bike I lovingly, dutifully cleared of office-based detritus a couple of days ago - is just looking at me now, going "J'accuse!" and singing mournful Cliff Richard parodies about how "it's not funny, how we don't ride any more..." and Neil Diamond parodies about how "you don't bring me arse-sweat...you don't curse my makers...you don't wear my gears out...any....morrrrrre...."
It's really terribly distracting.
Even now, I'm looking at my List of Shit To do, on which is clearly written the word "Bike", and looking at the time, and thinking "Iiiiii don't think so."
So, all in all - not so much capitalising on the lost pound. More sort of bankrupting it.
Oh and then of course yesterday I had to lay on the floor for about a quarter of an hour.
I went to Starbucks for the day yesterday, walked in the door, sat down, opened up the laptop and thought "Ohhhh, that's not right..."
Yes - your friend and mine, Random Bastard Tachycardia. Made me all swoony and for a moment there, I thought I was going to crash my enormous swede of a head into the keyboard of the laptop and dribble into its innards. But I didn't - I lay on the floor with my feet on the chairs and did my breathing exercises till a couple of the Starbuckers came running with ice water and a free first decaff of the day.
Some people - in fact, most everyone - said I should probably not stay there, but turn round and come home. But goddammit, that's just how big my balls are, ladies and gentlemen - had a tachycardic episode, stayed in a coffee shop for the next seven hours and went for a big Italian meal. Oh yes indeed...
So I Have A Plan.
A Two Hour Plan.
Haven't set foot inside the gym in quite a while now. As of Tuesday, when all this Easter hullabaloo is done and dusted for another year, I'm going to there early. Two hours (and possibly a bit, for showering) before I have to start actual work. I'm going to do an hour on one of their bikes. Then I'm going to do an hour on the various muscle machines - what comedian Denis Leary calls the "arm machines, and leg machines" and in my case the sit-up crunchy machines. Two hours, before the day begins, that's it. Then the day can unfold as normal, I'll have got some cardiovascular stuff under my belt, and done a bit of reminding my muscles that they're there as well. This flabby, flappy old cobblers has got to stop.
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