Wednesday, November 26, 2008

All I know is that to me you look like you're lots of fun

Wednesday, November 26, 2008
I've had two weeks off the 7am spin, with the convenient Common Law as an unusually coherent excuse. Back to it tomorrow, though, and because her outdoors is working evenings now, I can't even spend the night five minutes from the gym, at the bumpy-headed Ellie's flat.

I called my dormant exercise bleugh, that one for which I wrote four entries, 'The fuck am I doing this for?'. And never is that question more pertinent than when I throw my leg over the spin saddle at 6.50 and attempt to coax some warmth into my cold, dead legs.

I know what I tell the punters to prise them into the gym at that insane hour. 'Empty stomach, no carbs stored, more time in fat burning zone, sets you up for the day.' I say this jollily and without any inflection that suggests 'Are you fucking insane? Get up an hour early to listen to me shouting at you over M.I.A.? Seriously, dude, if you're happy to get up at 6.15 or so, then you're not going to bed late enough.' Nothing in my tone betrays this, the truest of my bright and breezy beliefs.

I quite like my job, such as it is. I get paid to keep reasonably fit, allowing me to eat and drink lots and lots of unmitigated crap without turning into fat five-chinned porker like the rest of the fucking country. And I get to be the centre of attention. And as far as attention goes, that's exactly where I like to be. But at the same time, this up at 5.45, this hurting by 7.05, this is making me consider yet another fake career.

I was all set up for begging, what with my straggly reborn beard, my wide range of frayed tracksuits, and my lifelessly aggressive eyes but the cunts went and changed the fucking law. You're not allowed to be intimidating any more, apparently. What a fucking gip. All I had apart from the beard, the tracksuit and the eyes was a penchant for sitting on concrete, intimidatingly. Cunts, I say again.

I guess I'll just get up at the putrid, genitally warted crack of fucking dawn instead.

12 Johns and Janes for the comment whore:

Radge said...

I saw 5.45 yesterday morning. It was very fucking ugly. I was spared the exercise, instead writing stories that nobody would read while sitting at my desk and quietly dying inside. Turns out coffee is just a placebo.

Medbh said...

You can be one of those smug folks who brag about their early rising ways as a sure sign of industry and a honed moral compass.

fatmammycat said...

I get up early these days, you are quite right, it's utterly disgusting. ( early for means 6:50, any earlier than that I might as well just start taking speed and staying up all night)

Rosie said...

5.45 should only ever be approached from the other side, with a modicum of caution and a final glass of campari in hand.

red leeroy said...

545 - pure insanity. Though with all those endorphins and not being a fat fucker you must have at least fleeting moments of being pleased with yourself?

Ellie said...

I agree with Rosie. I had an 8am meeting yesterday morning and you'd swear it was at 4am the way i was behaving. Do they not know I don't get up until 8? or 8.05/8.10 or in a blind panic at 8.20.

Conan Drumm said...

Oh, I remember 1,500 metres in the pool before breakfast. Then I try to blak it out.

gimme a minute said...

You need stronger coffee, Father Mackenzie.

I'm using the iPhone application, iMoral Compass at the moment. And yet still I kicked that homeless granny this morning.

Lucky it was a free download.

6.50? How you can resist those psychologically all important ten minutes is beyond me.

But then I'd rather top myself than go without pasta for 48 hours. You are stronger than I, Miss Cat.

I could go a campari now if it didn't taste almost exactly like that stale urine I once accidentally quaffed.

Red Leeroy:
Oh, for sure. But whining and whinging wise, I don't see no profit in their acknowledgement.

Thoughtless fuckers. I hope you achieved.

gimme a minute said...

And swimming pools are never, ever warm.

I know, I know, once you get going it's fine. I used to say that about my 6am runs. But you still have to get going.

fatmammycat said...

I had my first taste of wheaty goodness yesterday in almost a month. I am still reeling and giddy this morning. It's like crack. Pie pastry crack. Fuck knows what would have happened if I'd sampled the good stuff, like pasta.
Do you get many loopers wanting to spin at that hour? I cannot imagine it, but then folk are weird. How on earth you remain civil is a mystery to me.

gimme a minute said...

I'm considering giving the no wheat thing a shot myself. I just have no idea how I would get enough calories into me.

I was pondering the civility thing this morning as I chirped my way about the gym floor.

'I'm just a big faker' was the only reasonable answer I could come up with.

As to numbers, it's rare that I fill up the twenty bikes for the seven o'clock class but I had fifteen this morning.

Nutjobs, the lot of them.

fatmammycat said...

Well if you do give it up I can attest to a few odd but rather terrific things. Weight loss- it really does knock .5 of a stone to a stone in a matter or no time- well a few weeks.
Better digestion- this was the one thing I was really after, no bloating or feeling sluggish. I was actually surprised how much this effected me.
Energy levels stabilised after the first week. Back to pretty much normal now.
And this weird one, stomach shrinking. No seriously, I cannot eat as much as I could in terms of dinner and lunch and so on. I just feel fuller faster.
It might be harder for you to refuel because you already use so much energy, but I'm carbing away with potatoes and rice and like I say after the first week I felt relatively back to normal.
I really noticed after eating what was really a small amount of wheat yesterday, how alarmingly 'off' I felt. I'm doing this wheat free malarky for a further two weeks, ( I miss beer AND toast) but I will definitely be cutting a lot of it out once this is over.

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