Sunday, 12 July 2009

Day 3

Another day, another morning at Webster's House of Pain. I know that makes it sound like a hose of ill repute but, actually, some of the equipment could probably double as torture devices for well-heeled gentlemen of public school origins. That would though make Giles a Cynthia Payne-esque character and, while he's got some entertaining stories in his past, madame is not, as far as I'm aware, one of them. Nor can I comment on how he'd look in a dress.

But I digress. Friday though HURT. Not in a bad "whoops I've gone too far manner" - because the ever vigilant Giles wouldn't let that happen - but in a serious, targeted, let's isolate that individual muscle manner. After a day feeling energised but aware I'd had a proper workout, Saturday started in the sort of slight agony that you can only hobble and laugh your way through. Happily though, after much cursing of Giles - "he's a smiling assassin" I snarled at the missus, prompting many giggles and rapid e mailing to the man himself - the stiffness passed and the day improved rapidly with the realisation that not only was I able to bend over once again, I no longer needed to breath in while zipping up my jeans.

Can it be that just three sessions and a week of (sort of) moderate eating has made that much of a difference? Apparently so. I am, it must be said, keeping an eye on the dining and the alcohol consumption particularly the latter. Drink, as Giles points out, is not evil (well he would say that, he owns a pub) but it's all things in moderation and never drink to satisfy thirst. Drink, enjoy the flavours - and intersperse alcoholic beverages with glasses of water is pretty much what he's suggested and so far, so good. It's an easy rule, it's not stopping the wine consumption and, actually, you feel a hell of a lot better in the mornings. Unless you're up to the small hours consuming 1973 Calvados and decent cigars. Whoops.

The other thing I've found is that, because you've done all this targeted work, you don't feel like filling up on rubbish. Salads and fruit and healthy options suddenly seem more appealing than ever, and there's a certain satisfaction filling up on good "fuel" after you've burned off a little more of the old bad fuel.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have homework to do: a little TV and some stretches in the commercial breaks. Something tells me though, tomorrow morning won't be quite as gentle.

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