Damn knee's gone sore. Did the 60 km the other day followed by 40 km the next day. Was surprised at how tired I was on the 40k. Why? I should bounce back overnight. Er, no, because I'm 54, that's why. No bouncing.
Only did a half-hearted spin class mostly sitting down, yesterday evening, and delayed this morning's 20 km ride until later this afternoon as knee still a bit upset. Or do I lie? Perhaps I couldn't be arsed to get out of bed at 4.30. Maybe a combination. Worried my trainer might read this.
Serbicide: the act of murdering one's personal trainer.
Naw, only kidding. He's a damn good trainer. He was born the year I arrived in the UAE. Scary.
Milos: one-man anti-Nato army.
"Bluddy Nato, bom-Bing my country. And for what? I come from a small, crazy nation. Hey, we may be murderers but we are not terrorists."
Honest. I couldn't make it up. That's exactly what he said.
"Why is the exercise making me fart, Milos?" You fart because you are Breetish. You are Nato. Bluddy Nato, bom-Bing my country..." But now he knows he can get a rise out of me.
What is this bluddy kvizz (quiz) I see you doing at the Marina on Friday? Is it for anybody? No Milos, it's Nato only. No Serbs allowed. (Bluddy Nato, bom-Bing my country, etc., etc.)
As he strolls past the hangee-downee thing with a weighted bar you pull on (terrible name for a piece of equipment I know) he slides the bar into the heaviest weight, about 1200 pounds, sits, takes two pulls and works the machine fully, then gets up and strolls off. Like, don't mess with me, this is easy stuff. I was curious one day, and after he'd done it, I sneaked onto the machine and gave it a tug. Didn't budge. I was hanging off it like some demented monkey (with all my weight) and... not a tremor of movement on the weights.
I better not write too much more. He'll only make me suffer on the machines.
Only did a half-hearted spin class mostly sitting down, yesterday evening, and delayed this morning's 20 km ride until later this afternoon as knee still a bit upset. Or do I lie? Perhaps I couldn't be arsed to get out of bed at 4.30. Maybe a combination. Worried my trainer might read this.
Serbicide: the act of murdering one's personal trainer.
Naw, only kidding. He's a damn good trainer. He was born the year I arrived in the UAE. Scary.
Milos: one-man anti-Nato army.
"Bluddy Nato, bom-Bing my country. And for what? I come from a small, crazy nation. Hey, we may be murderers but we are not terrorists."
Honest. I couldn't make it up. That's exactly what he said.
"Why is the exercise making me fart, Milos?" You fart because you are Breetish. You are Nato. Bluddy Nato, bom-Bing my country..." But now he knows he can get a rise out of me.
What is this bluddy kvizz (quiz) I see you doing at the Marina on Friday? Is it for anybody? No Milos, it's Nato only. No Serbs allowed. (Bluddy Nato, bom-Bing my country, etc., etc.)
As he strolls past the hangee-downee thing with a weighted bar you pull on (terrible name for a piece of equipment I know) he slides the bar into the heaviest weight, about 1200 pounds, sits, takes two pulls and works the machine fully, then gets up and strolls off. Like, don't mess with me, this is easy stuff. I was curious one day, and after he'd done it, I sneaked onto the machine and gave it a tug. Didn't budge. I was hanging off it like some demented monkey (with all my weight) and... not a tremor of movement on the weights.
I better not write too much more. He'll only make me suffer on the machines.
Q: What do you call that machine that pulls your triceps until they scream in agony?
ReplyDeleteA: Sir
ha ha ha - I knew you'd be fab on a blog! Love it haven't laughed so much in ages!
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