I am not a gardener. I lack skill and knowledge and I’m too impatient to get the right tools, or a decent pair of gloves. I go at it like a madman, I’m exhausted in 2 hours, and that’s me finished.
A proper gardener rarely seems to move very quickly but, equally, rarely seems to stop moving. It’s all about pacing I guess – not entirely unlike any other form of exercise – for me, cycling and running in particular.
As I sat on Wednesday afternoon, bathed in sweat and with hands and arms tingling unpleasantly from brambles and stinging nettles, I learned the lesson for the thousandth time (knowing I will also forget it for the thousandth time).
I proved myself correct that evening. With my wife in London for a Dior exhibition at the Victoria and Albert museum, I moved the turbo trainer to another room and went for a gentle 30 minute session to ease myself back into it, having not used it since February.
It was very hot but, stupidly, I carried on for 45 minutes in a pool of sweat at an average 29.3kph (18.2mph).
Of course, I paid for it on Thursday at the gym – the 500m rowing was really tough and I was slower by 4 seconds and it was all hard work.
The good weather seemed to break on Friday but we drove down to Bournemouth in the evening to miss potential weekend traffic. We spent the weekend working on the house as friends are using it next week.
Of course, staying down there usually means running – but in a rare outbreak of common sense I resisted as it’s only 2 weeks since I tore my calf muscle and the Achilles tendons are still not playing nicely.
(an Old Man in Lycra) 