Heterogeneity

My lungs are on fire. And in my death throes I’ve lost an AirPod underneath my desk somewhere… between the wall and the Lego boxes (which along with Apple packaging, I have a hard time letting go of).

I pull myself towards myself, and wipe away the tears with my hoodie sleeve. I’m almost ready to re-join the living. I think. (saw the light there for a second)

There were two or three wasabi peanuts rolling around in the tin I’d bought at the Asian supermarket yesterday (along with Mirin and burn-your-face-off Korean bean paste). Not really giving it my best cognitive effort I tip the can into my mouth. Along with the wasabi dust that had collected at the bottom. For good measure I inhale.

I love Wasabi. Just not on my sushi. (Or coating my alveoli)

Despite the now still smoldering furnace in my thorax I’m struggling to warm up this morning after my swim, so I’m sitting-wrapped up in my four years olds dinosaur blanket. Oh, there’s a unicorn on here too, he says, having now given it some consideration. Stegosaurus, Triceratops, Diplodocus… and Unicorn. Part of me in annoyed that they’re mixing Cretaceous, Jurassic and Forbidden Forest. Or maybe the theme is animals-Noah-didn’t-take-on-his-ark. I’m trying to be less snappy about the conclusions I jump to.

My ‘swim’ was good though. Although having lost a significant amount of weight now, its noticeably harder than it used to be. That blubbery ‘goodness’ really does have a significant insulation function.

This morning the water was a balmy 14C (57F) and I managed about 12 minutes before my wrist started to throb and I decided to call it. (weirdly my left, so not the one strengthened/ruined by a lifetime of mouse-work and masturbation)

I’ve been juggling my day around. Trying different iterations, trying to figure out a new routine before I weld myself to my desk and try interpret an arbitrary arrangement of colored lines and rectangles inching across my screen.

As backstory I offer that I went for a genetics test recently.

The one that tells you what a eugenic dumpster fire you are. As opposed to the more cheerful iteration that tells you how charmingly Nordic you are and that your ancestors likely periodically sailed over to the dismal island to play bury the hatchet. (in the cerebral cortex of the local friar). Good times I’m sure.

In any event I’ve always suspected that I wasn’t built to run, but stubbornly stuck to it as my go-to exercise, since… forever. Pre-boxing even.

I scored abysmally in the endurance category (seriously, there are gastropods out there that would test better). Other low-lights in the text include ‘highly likely prone to soft tissue damage’ and ‘likely need significant support to recover from intense exercise’.

On the flip side. I scored really well on Power with two really high impact markers (ACTN3 RR and ACE DD). A training regime I have never really taken very seriously.

I have since taken up kettle bells, but still wanted to do some form of cardio since I sit on my bum. A LOT.

So I’ve started rucking. Or Ruck marching. Basically walking distance while loaded (like they make you do in the army) And I’ve (weirdly) really taken to it.

So every day for the last two weeks, I’ve packed my sandbags into my backpack and we walk 8km (5mi) along the coast together. At our terminus I change into my board-shorts and brave the cold water for… fifteen minutes (give or take) as a form of ‘recovery’ and maybe pain tolerance.

I am a mule (basically). How incredibly unexciting, but my VO2Max has gone up dramatically and my resting pulse has come down by 12 points. So there may be something to this aligning your training with your genetics.

It was my daughters teachers birthday today so we picked some Proteas from the garden earlier. I think its okay still to be a brown-noser at this age right? Obviously there comes a point in ones life where this is no longer acceptable behavior and teachers become the focus of all your ire. But lets make hay while the sun shines.

I’m trying to remember when that switched for me. Probably in my first year of high school. Although my last year of junior school had already nudged me into a downward trajectory. In my defense, I went to a convent school with both nuns and monastic brothers being responsible for my erudition, a circumstance that somewhat narrowed my appreciation of the fraternal religious. Amongst other things.

I laugh. But its sardonic at best.

Oh! I’m back on the black-stuff!

As part of my peregrination to get-back-on-the-wagon (or even find the wagon to be honest) I took up a vow of coffee-abstinence. Despite my protestations (to my devoutly puritan nutritionist) that I can drink a cup of coffee before bed time and fall asleep almost instantaneously she convinced me that Matcha and clean living was now my path. And for about six or seven weeks I gutted it out (and boxed up the intense sadness).

“You are a very fast metabolizer of caffeine”

*does the snoopy dance of happiness* oh yeah… oh yeah.

I’ve been quite good about it though. And not mainlined the peculator directly into my radial. But damn its good to have you back my friend.

Soooo unbelievably good.

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