bulk :: 14st 12
gym sessions :: 3
therapy sessions :: 1
lows :: 1
highs :: 1
steaks :: 1 pending
On Wednesday afternoon I spent 70 minutes flogging myself tender in the gym. All cardio. The sweat was jumping off of me like cartoon fleas and by the time I got home, I was back to my old chipper self. I was feeling positive and light-hearted. I was talking to myself in silly voices. The violent misanthropy of the first half of the week was gone. So - therefore - I am forced to conclude that physical exercise is very good for mental health. I know, I know, I’m a visionary. I’m setting the world on fire with these outlandish new ways of thinking.
So. I’m going away towards the end of May for a couple of weeks. I got an invitation to go see someone I don’t know in a country I’ve not been to, so I thought I’d throw caution to the wind and do it. I've booked a ticket. Two-week round trip. I plan to do a little travelling around while I’m there and I want to get as fit as I possibly can before going. Hence the recent frenetic gym activity, and self-starving.
Connected to that, I saw Rocknrolla the other night. Although it’s a distinctly average and occasionally rather laughable film, it does feature a captivating performance by Toby Kebbel. If I’m perfectly honest, I think I’ve got a bit of a man-crush on Toby Kebbel. Not only do I find him extremely charismatic, but also, just look at what he was able to do with his body…
I should say, my man-crush doesn’t extend to me wanting to lick his body, merely wanting to replicate it. In some interview I can’t find at the moment, he spoke of his regime, which consisted of a seven-day fast followed by nine weeks of one meal a day. This presumably in tandem with a beastly punishing gym programme. I wouldn’t necessarily want to be that thin, but to have a musculature that well-defined, to feel that fine-tuned must be amazing. And I’ll regret it profoundly if I get to the end of my life and I never found the time or the discipline to properly honour the gift of having an able body. I owe it to myself. So I’m working hard. And eating well. And feeling better already.
So this morning I had my first session on the couch. And it was good. I like the guy, which I guess is important. And we agree that it’s his role to lead, and to provoke. I need to be provoked. I look forward to it.
In other news, cancer continues to ravage and ruin all things bright and beautiful, making life, on occasion, feel overwhelmingly hopeless and depressing and cruel. It’s like, what can you do? Well, first and foremost, if you’re lucky enough to be healthy, you can live to the best of your abilities. Amen. Secondly, if you’re within running distance of Glasgow, you can go to the Britannia Panopticon Music Hall tomorrow night. There will be music and comedy and cakes and prizes and popcorn and a woman playing a ukulele. All proceeds go to Breast Cancer Care. (Someone asked me to mention this, I think imagining my influence to be rather greater than it actually is. Happy to help. Or not, as the case may be.)
Now, I’m going to cook a six ounce steak and a kilo of spinach. This weekend I shall be mostly punishing myself physically and writing some things.
And you? What are you up to?
