As of last week this blog is officially old enough to drink. And if it could, I’m 100% sure it’d be methodically traversing the spirits shelf, after downing eight quick pints in the local. Sadly the best it can hope for is the sweet release of an electronic death, an unplugging from the matrix, a fading ghost in the machine.
No such luck. Even at £4/Month to host, it represents excellent value for the – increasingly – occasional article, poorly edited moob-tube video and the odd decent picture. Often stolen from somebody else.
I’m sharing it’s non drinking misery this month. And playing to my idiot strength, I idly enquired ‘How could Dry January be any more miserable?” which is how we came to borrow a treadmill. Having bodged a hooky connection to Zwift, two facets of running inside have immediately presented themselves.
Firstly it’s even more boring than the Turbo. Until last week, I’d have scoffed that anything – and I mean anything up to and including being locked in a dark room with nothing other than a 24 hour recording of Lisa Tarbuck thinking she’s amusing – could be more soul crushingly wretched than going nowhere slowly. Treadmill running is, by some, er, distance. Distances that are shorter than virtual bike rides but this lessons their tedium not a jot.
Even when multiple bikes ride through your anatomically deceitful avatar*, there’s no fun to be had. Mostly because no ‘fuck you bloody cyclists‘ gesture is available from the keyboard you’re sweating important bodily fluids over**. Massive development oversight right there.
Secondly, it’s still better than running outside. Especially at this time of year. Which is odd, as flipping back a planetary cycle, I was enthusiastically advocating the joys of middle aged fresh air jogging. Well yes but changing my mind/forgetting what happened even 5 minutes ago/generally making stuff up is SOP here on the Hedgy. And most of that landscape is currently underwater.
And outside, I’m pretty sure my buns aren’t as tight as that lying avatar disturbingly wiggles on the big screen. They’re certainly drier and warmer and I’ll take that. Especially after another GAP ride that had all the right elements if not in the right order. Wind, rain, rain, brief sunshine, rain, frozen rain and – as we were flooding the car park emptying our riding gear – glorious sunshine merging into a spectacular sunset. Upside- not quite as damp as last year.
It was fab tho in the way than indoor activity really isn’t. We’ll be back outside tomorrow risking full mud immersions and frequent lying down. It won’t be great, but it’ll still be great fun. Afterwards. In the pub. When I’ll be nursing a lime and soda while silently hating all those sane, happy drinking customers.
Still a month of sobriety*** may trigger an urge to write more stuff. I’m not short of content, but after all these years most of it isn’t even interesting to me anymore 😉 We shall see. If nothing else, I’ll fall into February a bit lighter, as fit as I can be arsed to get, not totally decrepit and mostly counting the many blessings I can’t find anything to whinge about.
Oh and if this blog is 18, and I was 38 when I first committed brain fart to electronic medium, that makes me… wise and experienced. Yes that’s it. It’s what almost everybody says. On that cheerful note, a happy new year to anyone so starved of content they keep finding themsleves back here.
*Unlike many in the virtual realm, my vital statistics are enduringly accurate. Zwift mostly ignores these, instead presenting you as shining figure of health and vitality. There are no fatties in Wattopia. Must be because all the Cafe’s are closed.
**Treadmills are WAY more dangerous than static bikes. Decent prospect of face planting on the roller before being bounced out the back with a better than evens chance of blunt force trauma metered out by stout furniture.
***Well until 29th Jan when Carol and I are winter sun bound. Fully expect I’ll be partaking in the “Weatherspoons Liquid Breakfast” at Bristol Airport 🙂