nunoncastors

Since retrieving my car some three to four weeks ago I’ve forsaken cycling to work; not because I’m lazy, though at heart I am, it’s merely the case that I needed a rest. I’ve had Sir Wheels-a-lot for just over a year now and in that time I’ve cycled over two thousand miles, the bulk of it in the past few months. My thighs may now be wrought of steel, though my weight remains stubbornly constant, yet even steel fatigues in time and requires a few weeks off with a nice sandwich and some drinks.

I’m only saying this to make myself feel better.

Still, rested legs means I’ve been able to embark upon stage… um… whatever stage my forever stalling fitness regime is currently at, of my fitness regime. Jogging.

Now I am by no means a jogger, neither in bulk nor in inclination; I find it a loathsome business, an activity for people in tiny shorts, fluffy sweatbands and possessed of beady eyes. Football, I like, along with rowing, cycling, swimming, and almost any other form of exercise, but I hate jogging. It is the devil.

Which is why I’m doing it.

Which doesn’t make much sense.

My feet hurt.