So, I've hurt my foot. How, I hear you ask? I walked five kilometres on the treadmill. Barefoot. What a complete and utter tool I am. So now, the top of my foot is all swollen and sore and bruised. According to Mr G, you need adequate support before you go pounding away for an hour. I'm not even bothering #filth-ing that one. Plus, my... unorthodox manner of using the treadmill at times may have contributed to my injury.
I have an iTunes playlist of twenty
songs, specially selected for my treadmill sessions. It's not quite
right yet, and I have given it a tweak or two this past fortnight. Some
of the tracks might raise a few eyebrows, as they're not what you'd
expect, like Kodaline 'High Hopes' and Kenny Rogers 'The Gambler'
which are a little downbeat for walking but they work for me. The
problems begin when certain songs come on. Bruno Mars 'Uptown Funk'?
Cash Cash 'Overtime'? And my piece de resistance, Panic! At The Disco's
'Crazy=Genius'. Ye Gods. My steady pace morphs into something that
has to be seen to be believed. I'm like fecking Jamiroquai. There's Running Man, Moonwalking, Jazz
Hands, Disco, Handclaps (damn you, Chris Martin)... you name it, it's in
there, I think I'm doing it. Now, if you know me at all, you'll know -
a) I don't dance; b) I can't dance and c) I don't dance because I
can't dance. We can even add in a disclaimer of d) I'm not steady on two feet on solid ground even when sober. So why I turn into Paula Abdul while travelling at a speed
of over three miles per hour is currently beyond me. The moment that
Mr G reads this blog post, it will become his duty to capture this on
video and post it on Youtube. Upon reading the draft post he announced;
'So, this is why you keep the door shut when you're on the treadmill?',
nodded and walked off, muttering 'Right'.
reality is that I'm more Rain Man than Running Man. More Janet
Street-Porter than Janet Jackson. More... Moon River than Moonwalk.
You with me? Yeah. So, that's what I did to my foot.
watched the live draw for the Challenge Cup online, and we were willing
a home tie and yes, we got one! Home to Gloucestershire All Golds next
weekend. Our attempts to see Cru in action have been a comedy of
errors this year. The first time, was a friendly against Salford. We
packed a picnic, and off we went to Wrexham, stupidly early, it has to
be said. Parked up, did a bit of window shopping, ambled down to The
Racecourse, where it was eerily quiet. Beth and Cait ran off ahead and
came back - match was cancelled due to waterlogged pitch. Gutted wasn't
the word. None of us use the internet on our phones, so we'd missed
the cancellation on Twitter and Facebook. The week after, it had been
rescheduled to be played at Cefn Druids ground, and that too was
cancelled. Last weekend, a friendly was arranged with Gloucestershire
All Golds at Queensway, and although that wasn't cancelled, I was ill.
Next weekend is their Challenge Cup fixture, and the Sunday after the
season starts! I am raring to go, I've even been watching all the
Super League on Sky, really impressed with Salford Reds so far, and
interestingly enough, this year, they have a dual-registration
partnership with Crusaders.
So, that's why I am sat, feeling very sorry for myself, with a box of White Zinfandel Rose. Yes, a box. Yes, I am sneezing and sniffling. Because it is National Drink Wine Day. No, really. Really it is. It would be rude not to, wouldn't it? ;-) Allergies or not. No Super League tonight, so we are able to watch the Darts Premier League. Woop! MvG alert. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Michael van Gerwen... I have bizarre celebrity crushes, I tell thee...
Shit my kid said...
Mr G: (Reading news online) Oh! Gary Neville's finally won a match as manager.
Adam: (interrupts) Gary Neville? Pah. Gary Neville is dead to me. Dead.
Mr G: Um...
Adam: Gary, that is the, like, blonde one?
Me: No, that's his brother Phil.
Adam: Oh. Well, Phil Neville is dead to me. Dead.
Adam: Well. I had *random footballer* in my Match Attax Trading Cards, and *friend* managed to talk me into swapping him for Phil Neville, who I also didn't have. *Random footballer* was one of the best in the pack. I get home, I buy a pack of cards, I get another Phil Neville. Who nobody wants. I have two Phil Neville's. And no *random footballer*. Dead to me.
He's 9 by the way, and has reached a level of distaste about poor Phil Neville that only those who have heard him commentating have previously reached.
That may be all for February, I'll see you in March. Goals for this year, 12 blog posts ;-)