This is one of those things that make you laugh, but are actually pretty sad. It’s Drunk People doing Yoga Positions.
Here are some samples:
Nice.
Running
None. I meant to run this lunch-time but forgot to bring my running shirt. There would be some sort of riot if I were to go running topless through central Melbourne, so: no dice. It’s okay, my knee could probably use the break.
I want Matt Preston’s urbane, articulate, cravatted head to be separated from his neck, tout de suite. Whether or not it is subsequently served up on a platter, I am entirely indifferent. George Colombaris, Gary Mehigan and that Curtis Stone character should receive similar treatment.
There clearly was a fraud of major proportions committed last night, and it cannot be allowed to stand.
I refer, of course, to Masterchef Australia’s finale, in which the title was awarded to Julie Goodwin. Julie may well be a lovely woman, a great mother and a super-competent IT person. I accept that.
But she’s not a chef. She has no organisation, not feel for “plating” the food and doesn’t know the difference between an onion and a shallot.
What she can do is cry on demand and make endless speeches about how much this means to her. Blah, blah blah. It clearly works, as the judges blatantly favoured her, even going so far as to give her advice when her sorbet went grainy.
It’s a disgrace I tells you. A flippin’ disgrace.
Running
I’ve said it before, I’m sure, but the only sure cure for sore body parts is a brisk run. After the physio, my knee was considerably sore, aching even. I even had it iced up in bed, to let me get to sleep.
That was Saturday night. On Sunday morning, full of trepidation, I set out for a long run. I shouldn’t have worried, though. The run was only 20km even on reasonably flat terrain, at an easy pace, but it felt nice. What’s more, my knee miraculously felt better afterwards.
Much better, much stronger. Strong enough that maybe I’ll enter the Sri Chinmoy 30km this Sunday.
I had a strange experience, just after I penned yesterday’s missive. I was waiting for the lift when I noticed a woman – a stranger – staring fixidly at my feet. Most people with functioning noses pretty quickly figure out my feet are best avoided, but this lady seemed quite captivated. I should add, I was wearing shoes – my Brooks Racers. As you can see, they’re fairly spectacular, especially in a grey corporate setting:
When we got into the lift, she actually went as far as to compliment my shoes. “Nice shoes” she said. “Thanks,” I said “they’re running shoes”. (Well, they are!).
And that was more or less that, aside from about 26 floors worth of awkward silence.
That’s a first – me being complimented on my footwear.
Physio
I went to the physio this morning, to have my knee checked out. The physio turned out to be a young woman (although, when I think about it, she was probably a woman all along) and nice and seemingly competent. She asked me a bunch of questions, looked at my shoes, and then twisted and turned my legs in ways that varied from “excruciating” to “get the f**k off me you sadistic woman”.
Then she told me my knee had several “structural issues” and that I could run the marathon in October if I wanted too, but in a disapproving tone of voice. “I can’t stop you running the marathon, but you need to have a think about your priorities” or words to that affect. I get the feeling she sees a wooden right leg in the near future for me.
That may be so, but it’s a price worth paying, surely.
A massage followed, but not one of those relaxing, essential oil massages, a claws of steel-type one.
Immediately afterwards, I jumped off the massage table, then pretended my right leg collapsed underneath me. I thought it was funny, in a Dad-joke kinda way, but I did see a definite note of panic in her eyes for just a second.
Now the knee hurts like buggery. I’m supposed to run as normal, but stretch 4 times a day for the next week. If that, combined with today’s claws of steel doesn’t do the trick, then there may be an xray and/or MRI to come.
I’ve always (well, for the past 5 years or so) had one good knee and one bad. The left one is the good one – not that you’d know to look at it – it just goes along, doing it’s thing; stoic, uncomplaining, dependable.
The right knee, however, is a whining, complaining brat of a thing. It won’t stretch properly, is continually coming up with new varieties of “tight” and reacts to a long run or two with shooting pains up and down the leg that last for days.
I’ve dealt with this in the usual way: by ignoring it and hoping it will go away. That hasn’t been entirely successful, so tomorrow I’m going to go see a physio.
I have a bad feeling they’re going to tell me someting that will put the Melbourne Marathon this year out of the question.
Hope not.
Running
I ran for 14km this lunch-time, including a quick-ish lap of Albert Park and a slow trip up Clarendon street, South Melbourne. That’s the first and last time I run up that street – too many office workers not looking where they’re going. The knee felt quite good, particularly towards the end.
Swimming
Another swim last night, and another PB. I swam for 750 metres, and could have gone on for longer if I didn’t have to pick up takeaway for dinner on the way home. My technique is still – I suspect – abominable, but I’m experimenting a lot and gradually coming up with something that makes it at least bearable.
Swimming at night is much more pleasurable – not so many teenagers stuffing around and leaking hormones everywhere.
I had a brief thought that maybe I could do a triathlon at some point in the future. I’m not committing to anything, but it’s becoming more possible.
Not sure where to start though.
You may have heard Triple J had a big 100 favourite songs of all time thing over last weekend. It was kinda fun, partly to listen to some nice songs, but mainly to get righteously upset about people choosing absolute rubbish.
I submitted my top 10, and I’m proud (I think) to say not one of them turned up in the top 100. I’m not sure if that means I just have too refined tastes or I’m completely off with the fairies, or both.
The JJJ site seemed to be crashing constantly for me yesterday, but you can see a complete list at the Herald Sun website.
These lists are always completely subjective, and end up telling you more about the person who them together then music itself. That being said, the typical JJJ audience member is probably in his/her 30’s and has a nostalgic fondness for 90s grunge music and epic songs that sound like 3 songs combined into one (Bohemian Rhapsody, Paranoid Android). I guess if one song is good, three songs squashed into one must be 3 times as good, and therefore a classic.
Also, they seem to think music didn’t exist before about 1968, and only then if it was created by the Beatles, the Stones, Pink Floyd or Bob Dylan. The whole 20th century before that point never existed (sorry Elvis, Louis Armstrong, etc.). God forbid I should suggest there was some nice music written back before 1900!
That being said, the list wasn’t too bad, asside for some notable exceptions. Who the hell voted for Foo Fighters’ “Evermore”? Lots of people must have, because it ended up being number 9. And who keeps voting for Muse’s “Knights of Cydonia”? It’s an absolute stinking heap of tacky sheep-dung of a song. People who claim to like that song have serious personal problems as well as dubious taste in music.
Running
Since Gold Coast I’ve had a bit of pain in the knee which – helpfully – migrated around various other joints in the sub-waist area. So, running’s been kept fairly minimal. I ran twice, for 18km in total. I did however swim 3 times, for a total 1700 metres.
Today I gave running a more serious try – 11.35km at lunchtime in 54 minutes. The knee was a touch unwilling at first, but it seemed to warm up towards the end.
Clearly no, there isn’t.
Yesterday, I spoke breezily of having completed a 32km run. Sadly, behind the breezy exterior lurked a blogger who was considerably stiff and sore and a touch tired to boot. It was all I could do to copy some junk from my friendly local news website, click the publish button and collapse on the couch, vanquished.
Today dawned stickily; self discovering the soreness in the regions below the waist remained. If anything, it was worse.
Even at lunch-time I quailed at the thought of even the most gentle recovery run. Surely I could have a day off? But no, I forced myself into the black shorts, into a garish blue shirt and out the door.
I should never have doubted. 10km later and I was fit and raring to go. Sweaty, to be sure, but feeling like I once again had blood pumping through my veins.
What a wonderful thing life is!
Oh man, was I in an almighty grump yesterday or what?
Funny really, all should have been well. John Howard got shafted on Saturday night and a few hours later Charlton Athletic won for the fourth time in a row.
So you’d think I’d be a happy little bunny. But no, I was running around tearing up the carpet with my teeth and generally making life difficult.
I guess that’s what happens when you don’t run for a few days.
Politics
I’m taking a certain sadistic pleasure in the collapse of the federal Liberal party, and I’m pretty keen to read all the gory details like Tony Abbott’s claims for “reasonably good people skills”.
However, I can concede that you might not be as interested as I am. To that end, today will be my last mention for a while.
Have a look at this article by Mungo MacCallum: “The dubious legacy of John Winston Howard“. It has a rather wonderful opening paragraph:
His time in government can not be dismissed lightly. However it can be dismissed heavily, so here goes.
Vicious.
Running
A kinda pleasurable run last night, starting at around 7 and finishing at 8 or thereabouts. I headed from my house out to the Croydon golf course, lapped the place then headed back. Here it is on mapmyrun.com.
No knee pain to speak of.
Well this interweb business is all well and good, but it has its drawbacks. Namely the lack of a properly functioning spellcheck, which accounts for the dubious spelling in the heading of yesterday’s entry. Not the body, the damn heading. Or should I say the “dang” heading. Thank you Mr Rudd.
Moving on, if you were sitting behind me as I write this, you’d see me rubbing my own leg. Not in a good way though, it’s the kind of rubbing you do when you’re trying to kid yourself you don’t have the beginnings of an injury.
That’s the way I usually deal with things going wrong with my body – pretend it doesn’t exist until and unless I pass out.
Bearing that in mind, I’ll just ask my consious mind to look the other way for a minute. Go on conscious mind – why not have a look at the onion for this week.
Ah good. He’s gone.
This morning I felt a soreness behind my right knee on my morning run. I was able to run through it without too much trouble. However sitting at my desk for a few hours made me feel rather stiff, sore and oldman-ish. Maybe it’ll pass. In the meantime I’ve diagnosed myself with “oldmanitis of the knee”.
Okay conscious mind, you can come back now.
So it was a perfectly pleasant, injury free 13k this morning taken at a relatively brisk pace.
Now, I think people like a girl running may have got the wrong idea reading this blog: when I say “relatively brisk” I mean relative to a snail. Don’t picture me as some Kenyan guy with legs up to the armpits capable of covering 30ks in an hour. Well, you can if you want I suppose, but if you do end up meeting me in person it’s bound to be a bit of a disappointment.
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