Saturday, November 21, 2015

Bronzed myself with man sweat

I loathe exercise. Some days I loathe it less. Lately, it's more than less.

But I still got on the SoTPC and started the ride.

Being late-spring the shed where I ride got hot, hot yoga hot, with the fan not yet deployed because it can aggravate my fibro and I turn it on as a last resort.

The sweat beaded forth. Unconsciously, I found myself bronzing my chest up with sweat, sopping it around my gut and pecs so I glistened with a layer of Mikey meniscus.

I stopped at the 10.5 mark and turned on the fan. Fortunately the fibro only shot out of my left index finger and occasionally my right knee, along with the general malaise of anxiety back pain I'm enjoying. 

I'm not back to my level of resistance, my NordicTrack bike's resistance setting slips and right now it's at a harder setting than it should be, but I am riding back at an hour plus in time. The upper arse muscle pain now transferred back to the normative always-ache around your coccyx when you ride an exercise bike every day. Yet I ride on, ever still but ever forward.

As I dismounted I realised the bronzing and the olfactory delights of the shed combined to make me smell like the potting mix section at Bunnings. 

What a noisome note to end it on.


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