Behold the “torture corner” – began life with  just a couple of dumbbells before kettlebells, jagged rollers and yoga mats were added by order of the physio. Not satisfied with bending me out of shape with that collection, Big Gym Ball* and his mini-me “bastard little ball” rolled in with a set of exercises clearly designed as an alternative to waterboarding.

And yes, 30 minutes of contorting myself painfully with squashy spheroids would see me happily handing over the contents of my bank accounts if it’d just stop. It hasn’t stopped tho, while cash is leaving my account through consultations with a range of health professionals. All of whom  have more faith in rehabilitating various hurty bits of my withered frame than the increasingly grumpy owner of that body.

Let’s back up a bit. A structural component amazingly not currently in need of medical ministrations.  Elbow tho, yeah that’s properly broken. As predicted an awesome week of smashing it down Italian mountains failed to fix the underlying issue.  Returned home with it cosplaying a thigh such was the swelling**, and immediately locked myself in a routine of ice, ibuprofen and infernal exercises. Took three weeks off riding MTBs after being offered the choice of ‘3 weeks off now or at least 3 months if you’re an idiot’.

I am an idiot. Evidentially there are almost infinite data points to support my lack of impulse control and pathological need to be lazy.  Luckily meteorological conditions were such that a sick note represented the best excuse ever: “would love to come and ride in the slop and the cold, but you know need not to be an idiot“. Fair to say this was met with some suspicion by my riding buddies.

This did present me with a problem tho. A problem that’s been gaining traction since the start of the year. A problem that suggests solutions in the form of elasticated trousers and giving up. Six months of easy living, six old school pounds of added weight, mostly hula-hooping around the midriff. This orbit of old beer and new cheeses inexplicably*** got even worse after THREE riding holidays.

Leaning into my outer idiot, I confidently and publicly signed up for the “100 days of exercise” challenge usefully starting two days from my return from that week of Italian gluttony. With proper riding being about the only thing off my personal menu, I pivoted to the turbo only to instantly dismount with all the grace my barely articulated hips could offer.

God it’s so boring. 10,000 kilometres over six years makes the idea of doing any more about as appealing as, I dunno, some of this healthy eating people keep telling me about.  Never really got past the noticeable lack of cheese before tuning out. So plan B was another confident sign up- this time to the 8 week Cyclist to 10km running plan.

Started well. Invested in some funky new daps guaranteed to improve my mid stroke while offering state of the art damping****. Lace up those grellow puppas and smash the programme. Short delay while new headphones were shipped replacing those enthusiastically chewed by our real pup.

Amazingly the four runs a week – increasing in intensity – have failed to breach my low boredom threshold. Sure it’s boring, really boring but not when compared to the Turbo, and the Torture Corner giving me the side eye every time it hoves into view. It’s both stamped the first 30 days of the challenge and shifted most of the excess weight. Not all of it and not from where it’s mostly slumped but honestly – along with an elbow that’s mostly now okay for riding – I’ll take these little wins.

The problem with that attitude is it’s way too easy to back slide into old habits. Mostly involving a fridge stacked with goodies that are really quite bad for you. So engaging ‘max idiot‘ I’ve set myself some targets. Nothing with hard numbers that I’m to soft to hit, more – as we data geeks like to say – ideas with tolerances.

Hopes and dreams people. Some of them definitely are. Sub 1hr hilly 10km outside, 5 mins off that on the Dreadmill, 172 lbs with both feet on the scale, 3 classes a week when I hand over yet more money to the local gym, Night ride and long weekend ride whatever the weather, maybe even a turbo session when I’m not being held prisoner by the torture corner.

Good chance of missing those.  Some by quite a distance. But the option was to let it slide and, tempting as that was, I’m bloody pleased to have got some kind of exercise structure back in my life.

67 days left to Christmas Eve before the reaper of stats shall cast his eye over my efforts. I don’t expect him to be terribly impressed, but by that time he’ll be talking to the hand while the rest of that arm is celebrating with an elbows deep investigation of some stinky stilton.

Until then,  I can do some more dreaming. Of trips like this.

I’ve many things to write about a brilliant week in Molini, and the equally fantastic riding in Madeira back in July. Thinking about that, I did some adding up and totalled 25 trips away from home in the last twenty years.  I really want to do a few more. But there’s definitely a price to pay for that.

Come on then bastard-small-ball. Let’s be having you.

*Just pumping that up nearly ended me. I’m sure it took a full day. And yes I do own a compressor. Which merely confirms I am a stubborn idiot.

**Insert your own jokes here.

***Uplifts. Wine. And all that cheese.

****Something like that anyway. It’s like healthy eating, I kind of tuned out. My purchasing criteria are cost and, er, no that’s it 🙂