Recovery

Since Sunday’s casual 13 mile jaunt, I have been bone tired. I fell asleep on the train on Sunday afternoon, again at work on Monday (at lunchtime, rather than the middle of a meeting), and on both Monday and Tuesday nights on the sofa after dinner. 

I have been doing things other than sleeping. I walked the 3 miles to work on Monday, Tuesday and this morning, and yesterday evening I went to the gym. On hearing this was my plan, an outraged colleague spluttered, “Will it never end, this quest for fitness?”. No, I thought. That’s the whole point. 

Fitness is not a goal but a state. When you’re fit, you want to stay fit, or be fitter. There is no ‘fittest’.

The gym was depressing. I haven’t been for two weeks and I haven’t missed it. The most interesting thing I could think to photograph was the treadmill speedometer, stuck at 11.5km/h (my recovery run speed). If I didn’t want to lift occasional weights to stave off the bingo wings, I would cancel my membership. My knees always hurt afterwards so paying £41 a month is literally a pain.

Can you tell I am grumpy? My body may have recovered, but mood has not.