bulk :: 19st 12 (but post-Christmas)
alcohol units :: 0 (only 11.30 am though, but still tempted)
cigarettes :: 0 (so far slightly easier than I thought)
calories :: 10.8 (if I am to believe that there are really that many calories in a single cup of tea – how the hell am I supposed to know? Bloody online calorie counters made by anti-fatso charlatan Nazis)
depressingly annoying, hugely pressing deadlines :: 1
new life setbacks :: 1
grumpiness level :: 10
So, on the evening of December 30th I decided to buy a bicycle. Everyone says it’s just about the best thing you can do if you want to get fit. It combines good all-round exercise with fresh air and fun. Apparently. Then I remembered in one of those slap to the forehead durr moments, I have a bicycle. I bought it last summer on a whim and put it behind the garage at the bottom of the garden I never use. So I wrapped a scarf around my neck and took to the fire escape that connects the back of the building to the garden. I hadn’t used this fire escape since the so-called summer when I decided it was probably hot enough to sunbathe.
On that occasion I remember the iron railing on the fire escape was hot to the touch. I crept down it, trepidatiously, lay down on a blanket for fifteen minutes in the watery sunlight and then crept back up it, convinced that I hadn’t had anywhere near enough exposure for any kind of reaction. A few hours later I had a hideous rash down both of my arms (thankfully I wasn’t brave enough to take off my tee shirt). I hate not being able to enjoy the summer. My life sucks. God, I’m feeling sorry for myself this year.
Two days ago, the metal staircase was icy to the touch and the stairs themselves were slightly frosty, so I crept down them trepidatiously and went to collect my bike. I was afraid it might need a little attention after being so long neglected. I was surprised however to see that it had actually been eaten whole by creeping ivy. I took a photo with my phone. Then I came back indoors for some scissors.
Then, on my way back down the fire escape, with my scissors in my hand, it happened. I slipped on an icy step. My right foot flew out in front of me and my body fell like a large sack of cement onto the step below, before sliding quickly down the next landing. It needn’t have been so bad, if only my body had been slightly twisted when I slipped. But it wasn’t. I was standing up straight, so the part of my body to make contact with the iron step was the base of my spine. My coccyx.
Coccyx. It’s a great word, there’s no denying that. But it’s a horrible body part to smash on an iron step. I don’t think it’s broken or anything though. Although I did spend most of the rest of Sunday lying on my side trying not to sob.
Yesterday was worse but today is a little bit better. So that’s something.
Sadly, I’m not going to be able to go running today as planned. Or cycling. And I may not be able to for some days to come. It’s a major setback for sure, but I’m determined not to think to myself, ‘Oh well, I may as well smoke and eat myself into a stupor and start my new regime in February’ or some such nonsense (which is what that horrible cow Bridget Jones would do – God, I hate her). Instead, I’m carrying on with everything else as planned. And I’ll even do some upper body exercising later. I have my copy of Men’s Health to help me, as well as the combined knowledge of the world’s physiotherapists, doctors and personal trainers that is the internet.
But for now I have a deadline. I have to write 5,000 words of thrilling editorial for a local council website for tomorrow. I’ve just started. I’m sitting on a large foam doughnut which Keith brought me last night so I could enjoy New Year’s Eve telly relatively pain-free.
Every time I cough, my coccyx screams in agony.
I’m desperate for a fag.
So far, I have to say, 2008 is really, really hideous.
Happy New Year!