the Daily Grind: June 2003 Archives

It isn't at all late, but I really am finished. This week has been a flurry of activity at work, which while productive, has tended to leave me in a bit of a daze at the end of each and every day. I put in the time for exercise because it is one of the few things that keeps my head screwed on when my drive starts to falter. The rest, pfft. Times like these make me ever more grateful for loved ones and friends too, though I wish that I could feel as if I were paying each group as much attention as they deserve.

Mister Howie, the answer to your question is yes... probably - see, have more fun!

Well, time for some rest; the cycle perpetuates itself come the morning. One last listen to Missy Elliott's "4 my People" - my tastes are eclectic, that's for sure, but this track will always rank up there; sass, attitude, style. Sweet Dreams people.

The difference between doing and not doing is often pretty small. Bend down and pick up a penny from the street, or don't; flick the bug off of your sleeve, or let it crawl around until it gets bored and flies off; leave the last few chips on your plate, or go all the way so that the kids in Africa have nothing to begrudge you for (or so some parents would have their own kids believe); to run the marathon or to watch it on television and wish, for the second, third, fourth time in as many years that you were doing it too. It's curious that I've always entertained doing it, but never actually come close to even starting the ball rolling.

Today, someone asked me if I'd consider it for real, I said "[I'm slightly demented and somewhat into self-inflicted suffering, in a fashion not unlike that of my leather wearing, crop wielding, sado-masochistically inclined, poofy brethren] Yes" - which, in my books, is tantamount to a commitment. Scary. The Flora London Marathon. Registering for it looks to be relatively straightforward, even for a braindead lowlife, so I should fare just fine, though getting a place is apparently another matter entirely.

At 26.2 miles, or 44.3 kilometres, a marathon is 3.7 times the distance I ordinarily aim to run on each of my three outings per week. That's terrifying at face value, but the datasheets claim that a successful entrant should be able to comfortably cover 15 miles in one shot in the month preceding the marathon. If I can already do 7 miles a couple of times a week and find that relatively easy, training toward loftier heights should be entirely achievable with time and effort. Anyone done this before? It seems a little loopy, I suppose, but I really think it'd be something worth dedicating some sweat to. Crazy I are.

Now there's an image. One tends to forget how good it feels to feel good until one comes down with the lurgy; I've had a mild cold since Tuesday, and I think it reached its peak yesterday, more irritating than anything else... low temperature, kill-me-already itchiness, general drooling and a persistent headache. They say that things are on the way out when you produce volumes of clear mucilage. Well, I've been quite dainty on that front, all things considered, but hopefully it'll be gone tomorrow. I have to go into work both days of the weekend, so it would be nice to feel at least a little normal. Plus, a little Sunday morning gym-time would probably bring the energy levels back up, but colds and exercise do not go hand in hand; messiness aside, there's a marked increase in risk of damage to the heart muscle during strenuous exercise when associated with colds or flu. This is cited as one possible cause of sudden death syndrome in young people. Mmm.

It's another beautiful day here; I think I'm starting to take them for granted. The tourists must be really confused.

Clearly hell on earth, Zakopane is situated in the Nowy Sacz Voivodship, at the feet of the Tatra Mountains, Poland. I'm taking a little time away during the month of July to look after youngsters; teaching English and dispensing activities at a camp, hopefully in the middle of nowhere, sounds like a good working holiday to me. As long as there's food, I'll be fine, come bug, bear, bugbear (there's some odd hybrid snafu going on here) or rabid raccoon. These are, of course, the western Carpathians, so I really hope I can do some climbing... it's my favourite outdoor activity (okay, contender with running and rowing), but I'm guessing that there won't be time for that. Alas.

They say travel broadens the mind; but you must have the mind - GK Chesterton 1874-1936

life is a horizontal fall

Strawberries; freshly cut grass; the delicate scent of English roses where there are none. Borne from afar upon the fresh breezes of the afternoon, but a few of many wonderful things that court the slow progression of summer. And where would we be without the metronomic rhythm that accompanies that finest union of nylon and felt, as the Rusedski's and Krajicek's of the world get on with what they do best?

Yes indeed, Wimbledon is upon us once again, and once again, my lovely village home will be ransacked by hordes of tourists and campers (of the outdoor type, c'mon people) from June 23 through to July 6. But it is a small price to pay for such a great event, choc full of atmosphere and alive with positive energy. This is perhaps the second year in a decade during which I will be away from all the action during the week, what with University, but I'll be sure to make it down for a weekend.
My home is only a few hundred yards from the courts and, in fact, used to afford a partial view into the upper terraces of one of the lesser stands. It's so close, again, that when you hear the crowds roar on the television and then hit mute, you can still hear the crowds roar, even through closed windows. It's a fervor that is entirely palpable. I couldn't help but enjoy it even if I didn't like the game. Just wish I could play it; I'm a badminton man.
The bookies are having a field day. Good luck Lleyton.

I bought some new running shoes on Saturday, and was finally able to put their pristine whiteness to the test last night. Somewhere under seven miles, I noticed two things - i) new shoes make all the difference, especially when the old ones are nearly two years past their best ii) no matter how comfortable new shoes are, you'll always risk blistering. Stopped just in time, methinks, as my feet are fine this morning. Have I mentioned that running is the best thing in the Universe besides rowing? Oooh, I haven't tried Kayaking yet, as I was reminded last night whilst running (the River Cam is very well used for recreation). Oh, iii) miracles can happen, and new shoes that are whiter than an Englishman's legs in Winter can escape mud, puddles and general grime, no matter how rustic the route. Next time, we'll try it in Prada.

... and a shitload of work, but the sky is the palest of blues; wisps of gossamer cloud drift here and there, doing little else other than accentuate the softness of the evening light; patches of orange dance lazily with silhouetted leaves on the wall opposite my desk. Not for long; it will be dark soon, but it will have been another beautiful day amongst many. Whilst New York sits in a great big puddle of a late Spring and Early Summer, we, the reputed land of mist, fog and rain, are forced to endure two whole months of dry and inspiring weather. Hardships such as these are difficult to bear, but we will go on, painful as that may be. Heh heh - two amicably raised fingers and a dirty grin for you all, my brothers and sisters en Amerique.
Once again, my Phalaenopsis is flowering; it's a Marks & Spencer's mongrel, but it's beautiful, elegant, and carries an inflorescence of no fewer than twelve blooms. And they're all opening at once... I'll be buggered if that's not a record. Coming from me, species puritan, it's hard to admit that I love this plant, but I do. The petals taste good too. Don't ask. I try everything; Gingko biloba tastes like bitter, green apples. Perhaps I shouldn't skip my medication.

For the particular amusement of a certain somebody, I kinda like it, but the lips are all wrong...