For those of you that didn’t notice there was a golden globe in the sky today. I wasn’t too sure what it was but there were people in the streets pointing (and squinting) at the sheet shouting “sun, sun, sun!” Crazy people. I haven’t seen the sun since the Great Summer of 2012 (sarcasm intended).
So what do I do? I seem to recall that this was a time where I would find some quiet (ish) English country road and meander meaninglessly to somewhere that sold coffee and cake. No. I run around after children before walking down to Dunstable Town Centre to see the St George’s Day celebrations (which are four days to early). I manage to convince the kids to ride, but Mrs OLN was less keen. Shanks’s pony it is then.
With one face-painting-cum-doodling tent, and one toy archery set, this was hardly every going to be a wild day, but it gave me a chance to lie on the grass where King Henry VIII (probably) once stood, drink cappuccino, and take in some radiation.
I hope that the sun comes back again soon.
I have been here before. Struggling to keep the pounds down and half-heartedly trying. But breaking back above the 13 stone window again this week was enough of a trigger to start doing something about it again. So here I am again. Blogging, eating (a little) less, doing the sit ups and squats thing, and rekindling the passion for cycling (or reacquainting my derrière with the saddle at least). I have done two rides: both roughly the same direction or loop of Dunstable, the first OK; the second, suffering with wind (both me and the weather). Neither really pretty rides. But enough to make me sweat.
Tonight I came back and completed 66 sit ups and the same number of squats. And now I drink water and head to bed.
Not a good week this one. Had a cause to go to the doctors’. Nothing alarming or life threatening, but another one of those visits that: a) reaffirms that you are getting older; and, b) gave the doctor a chance to repeat his mantra of “regular exercise, eat fruit, don’t smoke, don’t drink more than one unit of alcohol per day (a barrel is a unit, yes?)…”. So I put on my Internet Doctor cap and end up buying more fruit than is sensible from Asda. I spend the next three days of eating solely fruit. A kind of fruity detox. Day one was fine. Fruits good. All of these colours. It has got to be good for me.
Day two arrives. Not so appealing. I want “crunchy” (not to be confused with Crunchie). I am avoiding tea and coffee too. Only water or lemon water. My head hurts. I think it is craving caffeine. I want caffeine. I may have to kill someone.
Day three. I will kill someone soon. The whole of my body aches. Perhaps being an internet doctor is not my forte. I think I’m losing weight, but muscle weight. Calf muscles are not thanking me today. As soon as the three days has passed I feast. On toast. Odd, I know, but anything is better than soft fruit. Warm, crispy, toasted bread with a little spread. And a coffee. Welcome back body.
Over the weekend normal routines return. Coffee, wine, rollerblading, curry, karate, and an absence of cycling (not all at the same time). And this morning is weigh day. Back on the scales and the results are good. 1.6 lb down. Not as massive as it could have been, but one that sees the return to the realms of 12 stone something. I feel good and celebrate. With a pear.
…motivation! Lacking even when dressed up in £100 of Aldi cycle clothing (that’s a lot of layers), Cyclingplus buff hiding the shame, and enough flashing LED’s for a b-rate Chevvy Chase movie. The pow! I am ready to ride. Enjoying the darkness. Avoiding the cars. And heading into the wind and down hill to Eaton Bray. The mind was empty of any real thoughts and the legs just kept turning. By the time I head down the A5 in to Dunstable I am warm and happy to stand waiting for the lights to change.
So proud of my 10.2 miles, back home I do 71 squats, and 79 sit ups. I must be ill.
Another weekend whizzed by filled with rollerskating, karate, and Tinkerbell. Being a parent is fun but juggling it with cycling is a challenge.
So with nothing vaguely two-wheeled to report Monday comes around and I’m standing post-shower on the scales. Now cyclists often look to componentry that for a small mortgage will lighten their bikes by a few grammes to make climbing hills faster. But sometimes greater weight advantages can come from the rider. And this week it comes in the form of a 1.8 lb weight loss. It may not make getting up Dunstable Downs faster, but it should make getting my leg over [the saddle] easier.
Only to be replaced by heavy rain and flooding from snow melt. But the sun is shining and temperature is positively positive so with sloth-like moves I faff to get everything ready for a ride.
Wind was coming from the west so, taking a leaf from club rides, I head west-ish towards Eaton Bray. As I ride between open farm fields side winds gusting up to 44 mph (allegedly) make riding slow. I lean in to the wind then try not to wobble when the gust subsides.
I intended to ride in heart rate zone two – the fat burning zone. Yet despite my best efforts I struggle to stay in zone three. I put it down to lack of fitness, the onset of man flu, a faulty monitor, or any permutation of. When I hit zone five I fear for my life.
Reaching the flat of Eaton Bray water is backing up through manhole covers. It would make a good picture for the blog but stopping may make me think twice about continuing the ride. The ride is good and I carry on to Slapton and Leighton Buzzard, instantly enjoying the wind now behind me.
I stay off the A505 and head through the villages of Stanbridge and Tilsworth where the road can fight back the water no more.
The remainder of the journey was uneventful. I take the detour around the new shared area by Asda which no one seems to get or enjoy. Perhaps someone should tell the Corsa-driving youth what shared and courtesy means?
Back home I am pleased to announce that I’m not dead – my monitor had a reset and didn’t have the zones set up. User error.