This week I didn’t do much but work my little tail off. The office has been busy, the open mic is back on, and I have been being straight-up lazy.
I have been using this respite as an opportunity to make a brief but well-earned swan dive into obesity. I am still as hungry as I was when I was training, but of course I am not doing 10,000 calories of exercise a week, so I am packing on weight like a college football player on steroids.
I am still doing my crunches, my yoga and my walking (I am really enjoying walking . . . always have. I walked first thing in the morning almost every day for 11 years, and it is vital to the comfort of my sacral spine and the quietude of my brain). But I have only gone for a few runs, 11 and three miles, I think. The three-miler was at a great pace, though, faster than I have run in years. I haven’t even touched my bike.
I am using this time to plan future assaults on my body—like how I am going to train for the Ultra Beast, and maybe doing some metabolic and nutrition articles for this column.
The UB will be a different kind of training. I will have to run, climb trails, etc., but I will also have to be in shape for more calisthenic/gymnastic style obstacles. And while I can usually knock off 15-20 pullups at a shot and 50-100 pushups, these exercises have been neglected, and the UB will require an even greater degree of torso and core fitness than my usual.
In case any of you have missed it, I just now announced my candidacy for the GOP nomination for President. Sorry, I got confused, I mean I just announced that I will be competing in the Ultra Beast this fall.
“Competing” is a strong word—really, I will just be trying to avoid getting yanked off the course before I am finished. So that happened, and I have reached my newest level of stupid.
What this really means is that you get another couple of months of relaxed, happy workout articles, and then I will build up into a frenzy of weeping and wailing, bitterness, and angst. At least this time I will not have to drive 10 hours to do it. I will fall out of bed, drink a dozen pre-baby chickens, and then drive up the hill (or maybe run? That would make the event 32 miles! But I wouldn’t have to pay for parking . . . Happy, happy, joy, joy!) and roll around in the mud until I cry mud tears.
Before signing off this week, here’s the Pip Report: Pip the Impaler, guinea pig extraordinaire, is coming along nicely with his manners trainings. He seems to be developing some trust in me, and while he still occasionally gets very alarmed, his alarm responses are decreasing in severity and frequency. The love fest is working! When I put my face down by his igloo he rubs his nose on my nose and face. It is adorable, and it makes me incredibly happy to see progress.
Author’s note: Interested readers, if you have any ideas about subjects you would like for me to cover, please let me know: [email protected]