sweat and Leonard Cohen

I have a bizarre, some would say unreasonable, aversion to losing more than 7 percent of my bodyweight in sweat at any one time. Call me crazy.

On weeks like this one here in Melbourne, this tends to limit the amount of running I can do. The long-range weather forecast reads like an infernal tale of doom.

Thursday: 36 (Boom)
Friday: 37 (Boom)
Saturday: 30 (Boom)
Sunday: 35 (Boom)
Monday: 35 (Boom)
Tuesday: 33 (Boom, boom, boom)

What a god-awful mess. I really don’t see how I’m going to get any running done at all!

Actually, I do. I have a plan involving my house, my work, about 27km of road in between the two, and some running gear. I intend to put this plan into action tomorrow morning.

Running
A nice easy 9.6km this lunchtime, just to get out of the office.

Leonard Cohen
Congratulations to the old man who was today inducted into the Rock ‘n roll hall of fame. Apparently he recited the lyrics to “Tower of Song” as part of his acceptance speech. I doubt it went down well, given most of the audience were there to see Madonna, god help them.

I’m melting

Hot weather sucks the big one, not to put too fine a point on it.

There’s absolutely nothing to be said in favour of it. You can’t run to any great degree (although I note some people don’t seem to realise this) and you can’t really do any gardening. The lists of things you can’t do stretches on and on, until all you have left that you can do is sit around and swelter in the house.

Actually, I take that back. There’s one thing to be said for hot weather – it makes the inside of Eastland Shopping Centre look vaguely attractive. If you knew my thoughts on Eastland, you would know how amazing that is.

Anyway, no running today. I did pay a brief visit to the pool and clambered up and down a few times. Plus the visit to Eastland, which exercised whatever muscles you use to grind your teeth.

boxing

Oooooh baby, was that a grumpy post or what? It’s amazing what a boring day at work, the flu and 4 days off running will do to a person.

Thankfully, as I pen this humble missive, the grumpiness, like Christmas itself – there’s a strange coincidence – is more or less over.

We contrived, somehow, to spend most of the day lolling about in the sunshine; self toying with the barbecue and assorted family members gambolling around with their new toys.

The little one is too small to understand the alleged joys of Christmas: he’s entirely indifferent to presents and thinks Santa is scary. He and I are of one mind on that score. But he does like toy trucks, books, sausages and the new sand-pit – all at once if possible. So all was good.

Running
But reader, and here comes the real secret, I managed a morning run! Joy of joys! The lord omnipotent reigneth!!! or something along those lines.

Now, I’m not claiming this morning’s run as a particularly good session. It was a fairly pedestrian 14k, taking in the Dorset Golf course and surrounds. But it was pleasant, and the various dog-walkers and joggers all seemed in particularly gregarious moods.

Clouds on the horizon
The problem is actually that there aren’t any (clouds on the horizon, that is). It’s going to be 38 effin‘ degrees next Monday, and 37 the following day. Woe is me.

Ah well, not much I can do about that I suppose. I’m off now to watch the Panel. I know I’m not going to like it, but somehow I don’t feel able to stop myself.

uy que calor!

Oh man it’s hot….Yes, if you were wondering, that picture is of melting tarmac…… No, that’s not my glove.

I hate the heat.

feeling queezy

It was a decidedly ordinary weekend, this one just passed. Everyone in Melbourne suddenly had the experience of being a pack-and-a-half-a-day smoker, whether they liked it or not.

Now I used to be a pretty heavy smoker, and even back then I don’t recall being quite as short of breath. Then again, I probably didn’t ever try to run 20k back then.

Actually I didn’t try to run on the weekend either. Even I wasn’t that stupid. Instead I bunkered down in the house for the weekend, watching DVDs and getting steadily more sweaty and grumpy.

I don’t mind getting sweaty when I’m out there running, but I resent sweating just sitting still on the couch.

Well, anyway, things started to pick up last night as a mild-ish cool change came through. This morning I took advantage of the relatively benign conditions, and ambled along for 17ks or so. The post-run buzz kicked in post-run, naturally enough, and life began to look more rosy.

However, it turns out it wasn’t the sort of rosiness that lasts all day. It was the sort of rosiness that just distracts you while fate is creeping up behind you to give you a big kick up the bum.

Today’s b.k.u.t.b. came in the form of a story on theage.com.au, who report that Cherie Booth/Blair has apparently posed nude for a painting. I was going to include a picture, but I thought better of it. This is, after all, a family sort of blog. Also, some of you might be reading this eating your cornflakes…

Instead, I’ll just provide a link to the website, and if you are a glutton for punishment or have a strong constitution, you can peruse the story at your leisure. I can’t take responsibility for what’s on the Age’s site. Don’t say I didn’t warn you – here it is.

Great…. Apart from the exceedingly unfortunate image that will be forever burnt on my mental retina, I can foresee about 30 emails per day offering me the chance to see “Going down on Downing street” or “Blair does Bush”. Actually, those work pretty well, maybe I have a hitherto unknown aptitude for porn movie titles. Perhaps a new career?