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I'm sick. 2nd degree hacking cough and a head full of mucus.

The cold came on fast Friday afternoon and evening, during what turned out to be an 11 hour shift. Nevertheless, I hoped on my bicycle for home come about 02:15 Saturday morning, then got back on it at about 11:15 for a return trip and another 11 hour shift on Saturday. I returned home a little after midnight, having cycled about 35 kilometres since the onset of symptoms.

I say all this not to brag (or not to brag much), but to note:

Less than 10 years ago, when I caught a cold it was my practice to take to my bed, to suck down Neocitrin, and basically spend the next four to seven days in bed.

Since then, though, I stopped smoking, cut my drinking by more than half and started biking a lot more and playing soccer. And — fancy that! — now when I catch a cold, I function. I doubt I get over it any faster, but I don't take to my bed like some upper-class Victorian lady with The Vapours, I just carry on. (And, probably, spread my illness around to my passengers, but what the hell; I'm pretty sure one of them gave it to me in the first place.)

And speaking of that cycling, I've long maintained that my bicycle is my primary mode of transportation; now I have proof.

After I bought a new machine some time back in August, I decided to splurge on an odometer. Which turned out to be an unreliable piece of junk, which I was fortunately able to return. At which point I took Raven's advice and tried out a GPS-based cellphone app called Strava — which works like a charm (so long as I remember to enable my location services). I started recording my rides on August 23rd. I've missed a few and will manually enter the information later, so the image below does not include all the miles (kilometres) I've cycled since then, but it's not too far off.

1,290 km in less that three months, damn it! And you know what? I'm proud!

1200 km cycled in less than 3 months!

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Edit, circa 2030 hours. Turns out the correction was an error and we are, in fact, starting on June 5th, as originally advertised. Which is just as well, considering how my gluteous maximi (or whatever those bum muscles are called) are feeling just at the moment.

Maybe Young Geoffrey ain't, quite, anymore

Have I mentioned that I've signed up with a rec league to play soccer this summer ("football" to the lesser folk non-North Americans among you Gentle Readers)?

Of course I haven't; my experiment at being a tell-all, personal blogger sort of came to a halt during my prolonged emotional slide during my final months in Toronto.

Well, I don't promise a return to the days of narcissistic self-examination, nor of reports on the counting of my chest hairs or sex life, but I do kind of miss the random, more or less, stream-of-conscious postings that once characterized a big part of my online activities.

So, maybe, this is a return to that world, at least in part.

I digress.

Yes, I've signed up for soccer. Thought it was going to start in early June and was determined to start doing a little bit of running to prepare for it.

Tuesday, I went out and, yes, ran a little. A very little.

Holy shit, dudes! I might be — I rather suspect I am — in better shape than most western men my age, but regular walking, occasional cycling and a couple of hundred reps a day on some kind exercise machine (did I mention that Raven and I found an exercise machine that someone had tossed last fall? Oh wait, of course I hadn't — anyway, we did, I dragged it home, I've actually been making use of it) do not an athlete make.

Gentle Readers, Tuesday's run — which was in fact an admixture of jogging, running and, er, well, walking left me in know doubt that I needed to work hard over the next three or so weeks if I was to acquit myself without utter humiliation on the football pitch.

Flash-forward to yesterday (that's right, Wednesday) and I get an email saying the season starts, er, on Sunday.

Colour me scared shitless.

Went for another, longer, jog/run/walk this morning and, this morning, still look forward with at least a bit of dread to Sunday's opening game.

But what the hell. I also look forward to it with a lot of anticipation. If I don't drop dead on the field, I'll tell you all about it.

Also, I'm really going to try to find something political or media-related that isn't a bucketful of negativity. I'm getting a little tired of my own, carping, ways.

July 2017

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