I was fucked after my gym work out today. Girl trainer pushed me hard on the exercise bike with the resistance pumped right up to double figures. Boy trainer, back from holidays, supervised.
Today was supposed to be my last supervised session, but girl trainer said we had to do tests, or data, or something, still, so I now have one more session next week.
I was happy for today to be the last session.
I am joining a gym close to home, and I must get around to that rather than just talking about it, so I should be able to keep up the sessions on my own.
That's the theory anyway. Ha ha. No, not the theory, it is what I am going to do.
I've lost weight. I feel healthier. It is good.
I lay on the couch when I got home and read A Thousand Miles From Care, a book about a gay hate crime in the late 80s, specifically about Scott Johnston the brilliant mathematician who changed the world of mathematics only to be thrown from a cliff by a homophobic low life. I haven't been reading so much lately, I have been taking up my time watching essentially brain rot YouTube. It's nice to read again.
My legs were tired, in the afternoon when Sam wanted to take the dogs for a walk. Well, it had just been raining, and I reckoned it was going to rain again, so I told Sam to take the dogs on his own. He wasn't so pleased.
I can't remember if it rained again, or not.
No comments:
Post a Comment