This last week I haven't so much turned over a new leaf as "had a look at a tree."
Isolated and not doing much my horizons were never really that broad but this week I've decided to actually do 'stuff'.
So I made up my mind to go running.
this was a no-no due to my dodgy
knee (that, after 11 months has now healed post ACL repair, and I can actually
jog/ run/ sprint again. Oh the joy!) but the weather was more than permitting
of those wanting to pound the pavement in a pair of Nike trainers. UK
I.e the weather is usually sucky.
Here in Crete it's between 27 and 35 centigrade (I hate the word 'celsius', sounds like a Wall Street expression for dumping shares) and the wind varies from "get the fucking washing in!" to "pass the factor 50 Ambre Solaire!"
Not wishing to end up in a sunstroke-induced coma I got up at and went for a light jog last Monday.
And I mean LIGHT.
About 8 to 10 minutes, albeit on dirt tracks as well as tarmac and grass at a gentle pace that would make Eddie Izzard snigger into his pink beret with barely concealed derisory laughter. I got back and went back to bed.
Two days later I had another pop at it, this time about 10 to 11 minutes, and an extra 50 yards bunged on the end. Only problem was that I went at about instead of the morning and REALLY paid for that.
Got in and lay on the bed, thumbed the remote control for the air con, and lay there soaking in sweat for about 20 minutes until my heart rate slowed to normal.
Today I went again, waiting until 7-ish pm and just got back now, had a shower and a glass of juice and I no longer feel like Satan just blew cigar smoke in my face like the first two times.
Now....this may seem mundane or even banal BUT exercise for me lately (and by that I mean since September of last year when the surgeon was fiddling around inside my kneecap) has been a case of "meh!"
I have gone into most things half heartedly and without passion. A holiday for me was getting very drunk, trying to get laid and nursing bad hangovers.
Getting up at what, even a few weeks ago, would have felt like half past cunt in the morning, was UNHEARD OF. Not only did I do this but enjoyed it too.
I've also managed, twice this week to do the hitherto proscribed act of...KNOWING WHEN I'VE HAD ENOUGH BOOZE AND GOING HOME.....TO BED....ALONE...WITHOUT SULKING.
I've been snorkelling 4 times and today for the first time was able to hold my breath for something that even slightly felt like a reasonable amount of time and not a duck dive.
Last night I went out for dinner with two young ladies I'd met at the beach last week who were keen to try "the best calamari in town". One was, in fact, so keen to eat it that she threatened genocide upon me and those I love, plus whichever restaurant I recommended if the squids weren't quite squiffy enough.
Turned out she was happy so I avoided any ocular mayhem from her knife and fork.
Thing was....we had just the dinner (which fucking rocked, best calamari EVER) and two jugs of water and then went home.
This was enough.
And while I thought about drinking loads and was vaguely jealous that they were about to go back to the youth hostel that I've been banned from for 3 years now...the larger part of me was grateful simply to have had that meal and that chat and looked out over that sea as the sun set, without wanting or expecting any more.
And, due to the daft cunt who tried to comment on The Anger Master, I am now moderating all comments. It went automatically into the Spam folder where I then put it out of its misery. If you're going to be THAT insulting and libellous at least use your real name and don't sign it "Anonymous".
I tolerate and even welcome vitriolic criticism but opinions on my suitability to teach kids, whether I lied about my knee injury, and allegations of misogyny will only get you binned.