August 2015

[Sweder]

Slipped out for a greasy shuffle before breakfast.
No, not an ugly euphemism, rather an accurate description of the post-rain surface and my somewhat truncated 'running' style. The legs aren't too bad, to be fair. A couple of laps of the Moyleman start sorted them out, warm blood flowing through shredded muscle. I heeded Dan's advice, working harder on the ups and resting on the downs. Trailing behind Charliecat's flabby glutes for hill after hill on Monday was the wake-up call I needed.

Hills and hill work hold the key. I have a cunning plan, one that will be rudely interrupted when I strap my own sagging posterior into a small seat for twelve hours on Saturday week. The flesh-pots of Hong Kong beckon, with vitrually nil chance of a H3 hook-up, but the promise of a series of (legitimate) hotel massages and, in an exciting new twist - leg work in the gym. Yeah, that got your attention, huh? The gym.

I don't do gyms, but I do honesty. Honesty is telling me that my backside and thighs are so undercooked they'd give Mary Berry coniptions. With no good hills close enough to my HK outpost I'm targeting three gym sessions that week, to include rowing (shoulder much improved), static bike (gak) and leg press. I also need to stay the hell away from Lang Kwai Fok and Wanchai, for therein lurks the Demon Drink in a dark world of nightclubs and rock bars. Get thee behind me, Satan.