Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.
Before going to work for the afternoon/evening shift yesterday I had to go out earlier for some quick shopping (ie the stuff I'd forgotten to get the day before). Whilst locking the front door I noticed a neighbour taking out his cycle for a ride.
Was envious I must admit. If only because the feeling of participating in sport or most exercise has for the moment passed me by. The closest I normally get to sport nowadays is to watch it.
Now quickly I'll digress. The neighbour was dressed in the "I'm going out with my family" biking attire even though there were no children with him at ten o'clock in the morning. I don't mind that so much. The type of cyclist that really annoys me are those who are dressed as if they've made a wrong turn in the Tour De France.
You might find hypocritical that I, a collector of football shirts, feels this way. But when putting on a West Ham top I've never thought that the Olympic Stadium beckons. Yet when these people put on the shirt, the visor, the scifi helmet and of course the choirboy making lycra shorts then they're not out for a ride. They feel professional. These are the sort of people who will think they're riding not in Bridgend but Brittany.
Anyway back to me and exercise. There has always been something to hold me back. With cycling it's been the fear of riding somewhere that you don't feel as venerable as an English defence to an Icelandic attack. London has embed that in me and the fact that I've not lived there in decades has not changed things
Then there is swimming. I've tried. Genuinely I've tried to glide effortlessly upon water. But my stock move is to cling onto the edge at the deep end of the swimming pool. It just did not happen.
And of course there's running. On the road where I live many people take it up. See them all the time. Lycraed and sweatbanded up. Aiming to beat their "personal best" armed with whatever tech device to their ears so that they can listen to pumped up running music and isolate themselves to whatever is going on in the world around them........including of course the traffic. In their hands is a water bottle presumably used to catch the sweat dripping through.
Decades ago made an effort to regularly run where I used to live in Essex. But two things quickly put me off. The first was the sheer boredom of it. After all you couldn't just sit down and admire scenery oh no. You have run and forget about doing anything along the way that suggested fun.
But the main reason was the fact that in these jaunts I suddenly became meals on legs to any unattached dogs in the area. I have a phobia of dogs, brought on when nearly attacked as a child by an Alsatian (Note I said Alsatian. This being before a brand consultancy firm got their grubby hands on its image problem and somehow got it called "German Shepherd" instead. Incidentally real German shepherds must be a really tough bunch. No wool pulled over their eyes). So it goes without saying that seeing canines without leads...or owners...did not make me feel ecstatic
So where do I go now? No inclination to play a sport where being young is a distinct advantage. Neither do I wish to swing a golf bat or play mock sports designed for oldies like me. I saw an ad where somebody had drawn up a game called "Walking Football" for those people "over fifty". I'm fifty two. Get me that zimmer frame now.
No it looks like it's just going to be long walks. I don't mind long walks. As the long as there is a target at the end of it and the weather is dry (and despite it being Wales it does happen more often than its cliche would suggest) I'm ok doing that.
Still after I waved to the neighbour in a suburban friendly but too busy to talk way.........I took the car.
Until the next time.
No comments:
Post a Comment