I forgot my shorts

This week has been a bit of dodgy one.

Monday I had an epileptic fit in my tiny bathroom. It's always a little surreal when I come round to see where I am, what postion I am in and which part of my body hurts. This time my elbow and shoulder were particularly pushing out the pain and I happened to wake up in a kind of Jarvis Cocker dance pose circa his Pulp "common people" era. Saddly I didn't wake up any thinner, taller or with sharp suit suit fitted. Thankfully I did wake up and with no serious injury with everything, for what it's worth, ha ha, in tact.

From that low point I managed to push through Tuesdays gym session, rather slowly, and ably coped with Wednesdays Spin class by not dying. For those of you who are unaware of what a spin class is let me explain. Basically it's a 45 - 50 minute work out to unpredictably cheery music on a static bicylce which has various levels of pedal tension to make you feel like, at points, your either cycling up hill and then maybe down hill and then again on the flat. The class is, like most organised gym based activity, run by sadists and attended by masochists. It's a reciprocal agreement.

Thursdays run home was the high point. Having adorned my suitably impressive new running gear, as previously decribed in my last post, I realised I had forgot my shorts to place over the tights! In the spirit of "The show must go on" and hoping no one would point at my awful Henry 8th legs (That's the old "Place me in some wide shaped armour" Henry 8th not the youthful joust winning, ladies favourite, Henry 8th) or be horrified by other less "fixed" parts of the body moving beneath the tighted area moving to the slow plod of my running pace as I shuffle slowly down the very busy and well lit London road. I progressed tentively. A man feels bare running in tights alone. I was wishing I could bedeck myself with codpiece and full Elizabethean attire because as least that way I'd look stylish. Alas I only had my figure hugging fluorescent running jacket to hand. However that did seem to detract attention from the lower half of my body, thank the lord! Next time I promise shorts will be worn.

5 more miles done, 5 pounds lost this week, shorts not wore!

.

Little Sausage

When I was but a little chap sitting on the settee eating garlic sausage sandwiches (I know, my family was ahead of their time up north in the 1980's in our free thinking commune, we were radical) and watching the wrestling with Big Daddy and Giant Haystacks of a Saturday afternoon(not that radical it would seem) I was known affectionately by mother under many names. My favourite was little mushroom, but, I was also known as little sausage, and, it was this name that came leaping back to me from the mists of time as Ant and I went out for our first "long" run of our training campaign.

You see, after only 4 years, I, this very weekend, went out and bought some proper running clothing. With the help of a gift voucher given to me by the ViceHolt crew for my birthday (yes I know it was in June!) I managed to buy some running leggings and a long sleeve top. Putting these along with my excellent new running socks (Thanks Ethan and Felix) and jacket (Thanks Emma and Alex) I am now excellently kitted out.

The only trouble with good running gear is apparently it has to be tight fitting. Wedging yourself into it isn't graceful and as I squeezed my stomach and legs into this clothing I couldn't help but think my mums childhood prophecy had come true. I am that sausage shaped human being. I definitely felt like, well lets say, "supported." Or, "trussed up like a good en" is another way of putting it. I was half expecting someone to shout out, "Hey sausage, nice running outfit!" I had to have a little chuckle to myself running around the centre of town. What a sight to behold!

That's one good thing about running, it's a great leveler when it comes to how you look. You can't worry about it. Even Julie Christie in her heyday would have looked like a wet despondent wookie after a seven mile run.


Crammed into tight running gear looking like a little sausage
Sweating like six little sausages in their packaging on a hot summers day
Cold weather. Little sausage? Oh yes.

Seven miles done.

Simon

Simon on: Getting Started

The trouble with me is that I'm too much like two weight boxing world champion Ricky "The Hitman" Hatton.

That's one hell of a grandiose boast to start my first blog with isn't it? What a braggart! But, hang on, let me qualify that. What I should have said is that I have a little too much in common with Ricky Fatton, as the hitman is affectionately known when he's not in training. He is known as that because, alot like me, Hatton is all too ready to hit the pies and bottles of Port when he's not got a training goal to stick to. He likes the good life, as do I. Sadly, unlike Ricky, I'm not a very talented sportsman or particularly known as a pugilist. Those who know me can confirm there is about as much intent in my body or as much actual likelihood of me knocking someone out as there is a chance of a marsh mellow fancy miraculously turning into a chocolate hobnob. That aside, get to the point Topping, what I'm try to say is that I don't exactly do myself any favours when it comes to my weight.

In December you could find me on any cold, lonely street downing pints of wine and stealing mince pies from children and now, due to said nature, I have handsomely acquired the deportment of Oliver Reed, with beard to match.

So here I stand, Oliver Reed, no more pies left and shit out of wine.

Hell, everybody has got to start somewhere.

This week so far, spin class and 4 mile cross training session down, only 14 weeks and 3 days to go. Nice!

Simon T (Keeping Team Troving churning)

Our Just Giving page details

We've set up a Just Giving page for anyone who wants to sponsor Team Troving's effort to do the London Marathon:



http://www.justgiving.com/teamtroving

Thanks alot.

Welcome to our world of pain.

Welcome to you all. Team Troving is born. Here we will relay the woes and joys of training as we punish our bodies and beat ourselves into shape for the 2010 London Marathon. May the fun commence. Ha ha ha ha ha ha!