Day 42 (28 April): Eye of the Tigger
Sorry to be late. I was pretty miserable again this morning, so in spite of the fact that it was chucking it down with rain, I went out for a hard run.
And when I got back I pushed things a bit further and took that new skipping rope out on to the terrace to give it its baptism of fire.
After trying several times to get Siri to play "Eye of the Tiger" from "Rocky" I gave up and let her have her way.
So two minutes later I was giving it hell on the terrace to the sounds of
"The Wonderful Thing About Tiggers" which, as it turns out is that they are bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, bouncy, fun, fun, fun, fun, fun.
This now figures in my dating profile.
The problem was that Tigger sings his song about three times as fast as Survivor sing "Eye of The Tiger". Which is probably why Sylvester Stallone went with the latter, the big Nancy!
Jumping rope is tough. Its not for nothing that boxers do it.
In fact, it's to win large sums of money that boxers do it. But that’s not what I meant.
I would normally have slowed down when my pulse went over 140 but the rather attractive South African lady neighbour kept glancing over from her garden.
At last (15 seconds later but it felt like "at last") God answered my prayers and she went back inside. Obviously she doesn't like purple men.
Now, you must be thinking "The boy's a fool!"
It is true, I am comfortably past forty and athletic rope routines could result in a coronary.
In the present circumstances, that would entail eventually being found in a less than elegant state of decomposition.
Please believe me when I tell you I had done the appropriate risk analysis and taken measures.
In the event of a coronary
I would not be found decomposing.
Alfie would, after a decent time to observe the niceties, have eaten me.
Pets do this when no longer fed. It takes longer with terrapins.
Of course, under such circumstances it wouldn’t make much difference to me what Alfie did but I am concerned about her weight and I would not want her going round like Peter Pan's crocodile with my watch ticking in her stomach.
In the event of losing consciousness
I was wearing my Apple Watch. This sends out an automatic alert to my emergency contacts and also alerts the emergency services directly if I keel over.
This was my my second line of defence.
My first line of defence was Alfie herself. We had just run through fields over which the farmer had sprayed liquid pig muck with glee and abandon - his two childhood friends.
Question: Do all his pigs have the runs or does he dilute the stuff?
Alfie doesn’t care either way. She just rolled in the worst of it.
Was I angered? I was not.
When I was a toddler every night my mum, after tucking me in to my lonely bivouac at the bottom of the garden, would read a few pages from Sun Tzu’s “Art of War".
“Turn the rubble of defeat into the bricks of future victories”
always stuck in my mind.
In fact I just made that phrase up, but as I said, we’re late today and its not as if I’m running for office.
My plan was to benefit from Alfie's atrocious odour by having her lie down next to me while I was skipping. If I were to pass out I could make one last superhuman effort and fall with my head on the dog. Smelling salts squared.
So in the event of a less than outright fatal cardiac incident I would come round in time to call off the emergency services and phone my emergency contacts.
In reality, should the scenario have played out that way, my emergency contacts would probably either not have seen the alert or return texted me ‘Wassup? Get back later’.
To cut a long story short, does anybody want to buy a skipping rope?
Have a very lovely evening.