Post 287: Exercise first and coffee last.
By midday I was panting a bit after a twenty-five minute stint on the treadmill.
It’s been too long that I’ve been away from any kind of exercise, and I really need it now. For the last couple of months I’ve been hiding behind aches and pains, and the blue-badge hasn’t helped.
When I say it hasn’t helped, I would say that it’s a fantastic aid to help out those for whomwalking is a fragile act that takes a lot out of them, but in my case it’s helped my getting in and out of a tricky car door, but it’s reduced the amount of walking I’ve been doing and that’s not so good for my fitness — and my fitness is now front and centre.
I can’t remember the last time I was on the treadmill, and it’s even more an alien environment now it’s out in the conservatory. But that has its advantages, that’s for sure. Firstly, the window on my left that was closed at the cold start to my session was pushed open before too long as I got into my stride.
I was still in jeans and slippers, with a fleece-lined hoodie on my top, so I warmed up pretty quickly. My slippers are of a hard-soled type and were slipping about, and I vowed to use better footwear the next time I used the treadmill. It was only laziness that stopped me from getting off and changing into more appropriate footwear.
I was watching the digital display a lot in the first tenth of a mile due to me wondering if it was working or not — it was so slow. At 2.0 miles an hour it was slow going, but I tweaked the speed up to 2.5 and I felt that it was an appropriate pace and the distance started to click away nicely.
My ankles barked at me about halfway to my destination (of just one mile), and I thought to myself the inappropriate footwear was to blame, but I carried on, noting again that I needed trainers on my feet next time. But although I had already noticed, I was not going to stop.
I was busy looking out the windows of the conservatory when I pushed the window on my left open and let a rush of cold air in beside me. In fact, I was so warm I had taken my “Volvo” beanie off my hot head.
Yes indeed, I was starting to work up a sweat for the first time this year.
As it was a Friday my Darling was at the weigh-bridge with the usual crowd, and I found out later she lost another 1.5 lb and her target is well within touching distance.
So the house was full of nobody barring me and Mr Vicious.
He was fed much earlier and had taken up residence on a kitchen chair, curled up under the kitchen table.
I kept striding towards my goal and decided to call out for musical assistance from Alexa, who promptly added a new dimension to my power walk.
It’s funny how music can take your mind off the physical activity that was starting to become a chore, but as I blundered on I started thinking about the golden stars I would receive from my Darling, who didn’t know I was even attempting a serious walk, although she knew G, our youngest, set it up yesterday for this exact reason.
I started to see the finish line and got my phone out of my fleece pocket to capture the fleeting display results before they disappeared forever into the treadmill ether.
There we are, I have done it. 1 mile, in just under twenty-five minutes. Brilliant.
I took a snap and smiled and pulled the (strung magnetic auto-stop) safety device from the console, and the treadmill slowed quickly to a halt.
My heart was never much over 100 BPM and I found that easy enough, but the feeling of healthy accomplishment was palpable
I was well on my way to helping myself help myself.
The photo was evidence that I’d done a bit of a workout and posted it onto the family WhatsApp group for some hearty pat-on-the-backs, which took a while coming, to be frank.
I had crunched and slurped down a Müller Corner by the time the first person saw the photo and saw how I’d been a really good boy today.
Oh well, it’s there as proof anyway, I know I’ve done it — well done Mr U.
(That’s an awful lot of self praise, I’ll talk to the counsellor about that on Thursday).
The resulting glow I got from this new found activity was to have a healthy feeling of industry. I needed more activity in my life and this would help.
I then thought about the brand new, fully charged, cordless vacuum at the top of the stairs, and I was off.
I found loads of dusty and bitty corners of the house downstairs and up — under my lounge chair, on my crumy lounge table and on every stair tread too till I got back upstairs.
I also breezed around my “office”, for want of another name, and decided that was plenty enough for now. My right wrist was aching with the weight of the motor and batteries, so I replaced it back on its wall stand and smiled at it as if it could smile back…
At least I knew — I knew it was now used in anger and it worked just fine.
I don’t think the cordless would have smiled back just now as I had not opened its guts and released all the crumbs into a bin, but after doing just that, I replaced it to the wall, clean and ready for next time.
I definitely was pleased now.
I text this new endeavour to my Darling more out of surprise than anything else, but it was assuring for her if she needed assurance that I was still alive. Ha ha.
I grabbed a cup of tea and headed for the lounge with two satsumas for a late lunch, sat down and ate them.
I was ready for a rest, but I felt alive and really helpful.
This is when I read a few too many forum messages and got into thinking about my status as a cancer-ridden person that is not having any treatment, has a high PSA, but is not at all bothered by all of that.
I’m happy to know how things are but also know that every day I wake up I should go and enjoy the day.
The cancer is a sentence, but it’s only words and they can’t kill you, eh.
I sat and sipped the tea while pondering replies and pondering the coffee I had yesterday in the café…
I had an itch that I really needed to scratch. But what was it?
Years ago when the kids were tiny — nearly thirty years ago I suppose — I worked for a tyrant in a five-man operation where too much percolated coffee was drunk from a weary cafeteria by a weary workforce that provided us with the max-strength java-roast caffeine we needed for the busy long days in the factory.
But for years now since I left the place, I have never touched the stuff.
Partly because I’ve been told by the doc to reduce the caffeine intake since having a diagnosis of AFib, and also that I don’t really like decaf coffee. I’d rather have a lovely bag of tea brewed for 4 seconds from the first boiling water out of the kettle. Oh yes, I’m not a lot of trouble, am I?
Anyway, the itch I couldn’t scratch was to find a decaf coffee that I do like, even if it meant buying a bean grinder, filters, various machines and some good advice from local coffee bean roasters.
Well, I was thinking seriously about this possible new hobby and thinking, in for a penny, in for a pound.
So I emailed a local bean roaster on the bus route we often frequent, and after a while Iforgot all about it.
By the time my ever-slimming Darling came home I had two emails from the local roaster telling me to come over and see for myself what the possibilities are.
After explaining this new interest to my Darling, who immediately thought it was a great idea but was a little worried about her kitchen being inundated with coffee gadgets, so on the understanding that there would be a “thinking” time for us both about this fad, and we will both need time to figure out what’s possible and what’s not.
We’ll have a chat with the bean grinder on Monday. I’ve already found out that there’s no steps in the factory, so I’m not going to be out of step with any tour and guide there may be.
So there you have it. I survived my first day back in the land of healthy physical activity.
We had a call from my brother-in-law, who had great results from his own PC blood reports recently. In fact, he is doing rather well and that is always good to hear.
My Darling’s got the day off tomorrow — the first Saturday off in a very long time.
But what shall we do? There’s nothing planned. Yet…
Does that mean we will go out for a meal or wander?
Good night all
