Seven weeks and two days since the operation, just 31 weeks and 5 days to go till my target recovery date.
The gym has changed my life. I've never been a member of a gym before, except for one year when I got free membership having done an advert for one. In that year I went to the gym three times. The first was to pick up my free membership card, the second was to use the facilities and the third was later that same day when I returned to pick up my forgotten towel.
It was too far away, four miles, and I was playing football three times a week so didn't have time. Now though I am at the gym more often than most of the staff. I am slowly converting Ms Rable, the receptionist. I'm over-smiling and giving out cheery vibes to see if she will cheer up. It seems to be working although she may be pulling faces behind my back.
The time in the gym itself is all fairly routine now although I am trying to vary what I do a bit more. I went back to see Mr Knee this week for another check up. He was pleased with my progress and said going to the gym everyday was fine but not to do the same thing each time.
"A marathon runner doesn't run a marathon every day in training."
Sound advice from someone who knows.
Ms Rable is actually the receptionist for the leisure centre. She gives me my daily wrist band for the gym. I have no idea why we need this, but every day hundreds of people get a paper wrist band to use the gym. You go through a locked gate and then up to the gym. Ms Rable let's you in after giving you the wrist band, so it seems pointless. I'll ask about it soon.
On entering the gym there is another reception. A young chap, handily named Jim, works there. He does general cleaning and mild sexual harassment of female gym goers. You know the sort of the thing, standing right next to them when they are on the bike, or coming up behind them when they are on the weights. I have not seen anyone complain or baulk at his proximity so I have not intervened but I will keep an eye on him.
Yesterday, Saturday 31st March, I arrived at the the gym at about 11 o'clock. As I opened the door, Jim was sitting behind his desk eating a yoghurt and bran concoction.
"Hi Jim. Is that breakfast or lunch?"
He thought for a moment, looked at his food then back at me, back at his food and then a smile came across his face. "Brunch." He laughed, a big laugh. He seemed to think he had just invented the word. As I walked off I could hear him muttering to himself; "this isn't breakfast or lunch, it's brunch. hmmm. brunch."
It's been a big week with Everton getting to the Semi Final of the FA Cup. A brilliant win at Sunderland, which I watched down the pub with the Tuesday football crowd. This created the year's biggest dilemma. How to get tickets? One of my brothers had lorded it before the game saying if we got to Wembley he knew the someone or other of the FA and he'd get the tickets easy peasy. As it happened, he did. But them texted me.
"Only got two tickets. I'm taking my girlfriend." Just that. Oooh, cold.
I won't bore you with the whole back story of why this is not just wrong but so one wrong and every single person I told this too was astonished. I was telling people I didn't even know and they were amazed.
Here are some example responses:
"You're f@cking kidding." Next door neighbour.
"What is he on?" Old friend.
"He's a f@cking tw@t." Bus driver.
"No bl@@dy way. Moron." Bloke who sleeps in the park with a pram full of old newspapers.
"It's April Fool tomorrow mate." Postman.
Anyway, eventually he realised the error of his ways and changed his mind. It had reached a point where we were on the verge of never talking again, so whilst he made the error in the first place, he stood tall and made the tough call. Well done bro.
It is the second ACL Assault Course Circuit Training tomorrow. Bring it on, I'm getting ready for Wembley, but I won't be wearing this shirt...Everton FA Cup Semi Final Shirt - Wembely!
The gym has changed my life. I've never been a member of a gym before, except for one year when I got free membership having done an advert for one. In that year I went to the gym three times. The first was to pick up my free membership card, the second was to use the facilities and the third was later that same day when I returned to pick up my forgotten towel.
It was too far away, four miles, and I was playing football three times a week so didn't have time. Now though I am at the gym more often than most of the staff. I am slowly converting Ms Rable, the receptionist. I'm over-smiling and giving out cheery vibes to see if she will cheer up. It seems to be working although she may be pulling faces behind my back.
The time in the gym itself is all fairly routine now although I am trying to vary what I do a bit more. I went back to see Mr Knee this week for another check up. He was pleased with my progress and said going to the gym everyday was fine but not to do the same thing each time.
"A marathon runner doesn't run a marathon every day in training."
Sound advice from someone who knows.
Ms Rable is actually the receptionist for the leisure centre. She gives me my daily wrist band for the gym. I have no idea why we need this, but every day hundreds of people get a paper wrist band to use the gym. You go through a locked gate and then up to the gym. Ms Rable let's you in after giving you the wrist band, so it seems pointless. I'll ask about it soon.
On entering the gym there is another reception. A young chap, handily named Jim, works there. He does general cleaning and mild sexual harassment of female gym goers. You know the sort of the thing, standing right next to them when they are on the bike, or coming up behind them when they are on the weights. I have not seen anyone complain or baulk at his proximity so I have not intervened but I will keep an eye on him.
Yesterday, Saturday 31st March, I arrived at the the gym at about 11 o'clock. As I opened the door, Jim was sitting behind his desk eating a yoghurt and bran concoction.
"Hi Jim. Is that breakfast or lunch?"
He thought for a moment, looked at his food then back at me, back at his food and then a smile came across his face. "Brunch." He laughed, a big laugh. He seemed to think he had just invented the word. As I walked off I could hear him muttering to himself; "this isn't breakfast or lunch, it's brunch. hmmm. brunch."
It's been a big week with Everton getting to the Semi Final of the FA Cup. A brilliant win at Sunderland, which I watched down the pub with the Tuesday football crowd. This created the year's biggest dilemma. How to get tickets? One of my brothers had lorded it before the game saying if we got to Wembley he knew the someone or other of the FA and he'd get the tickets easy peasy. As it happened, he did. But them texted me.
"Only got two tickets. I'm taking my girlfriend." Just that. Oooh, cold.
I won't bore you with the whole back story of why this is not just wrong but so one wrong and every single person I told this too was astonished. I was telling people I didn't even know and they were amazed.
Here are some example responses:
"You're f@cking kidding." Next door neighbour.
"What is he on?" Old friend.
"He's a f@cking tw@t." Bus driver.
"No bl@@dy way. Moron." Bloke who sleeps in the park with a pram full of old newspapers.
"It's April Fool tomorrow mate." Postman.
Anyway, eventually he realised the error of his ways and changed his mind. It had reached a point where we were on the verge of never talking again, so whilst he made the error in the first place, he stood tall and made the tough call. Well done bro.
It is the second ACL Assault Course Circuit Training tomorrow. Bring it on, I'm getting ready for Wembley, but I won't be wearing this shirt...Everton FA Cup Semi Final Shirt - Wembely!
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