The Perils of Exercise

Sunday I'd talked myself into going to Broadstairs for the Old Lookout Gallery and to finally do the Turner and Dickens Walk from Broadstairs to Margate. I'd spent most of the middle of the week in Newcastle, at Alien Nation, which began well by a) getting me soaked in the rain, b) hiding the entrance to the building I needed on the clever map so I actually walked 7/8 around he building and c) got me trapped in a lift. If there was a place for seventies dystopia, this was it. By the time I'd got home, just post midnight, there was no way I'd be in any shape for either of the beer festivals the next day, and spent much of Friday in bed. Indeed, a chunk of Saturday too, so I ended up working late and not getting to sleep until 4.00.

I could have pulled the plug then, as I woke with barely enough time to walk to the station, although I could make it if I caught a taxi. One hundred per cent deficiency in the taxi department, although plenty of South Eastern officials telling Amy Winehouse jokes. No looking at a train two hours later than Plan A - and still thinking I could call it off - I walked into town and Caffe Nerd, having a coffee before heading for the station.

It's a mile to the station.

I will have to retrace those steps.

Let's say it's half a mile from Broadstairs station to the harbour and to the start of the walk.

Fortunately I paused to buy a 1.5 litre bottle of water of Tesco on the way back up the hill - fortunately most of the walk past the station is flat. Fortunately it's hard to get lost on the walk (although the signage in Margate leaves a little to be desired). Then I have to walk from Turner Contemporary to the station.

Another half mile.

I make that seven miles.

At least. In heat.

In the evening I felt the kind of ache that I get from cycling for the first time in months. Muscles pulled you didn't know you had. Both knees seem fine. Just achy. I sleep well. Indeed, I sleep well for most of Monday. Breakfast comes and goes. As does lunch. I force myself up for a bath, and have tea, but it mostly goes uneaten. I don't have the energy to go to the pub. I'm worried about another sleepless night, but I shouldn't have. I recall that I have some aftersun care cream - probably years out of date - but I'm not exactly sunburnt. Dehydration comes into it. It reminds me of the sportsday on my sixth birthday which led me to a 3.30pm bedtime and a sleep right through a birthday tea.

Or maybe I've just made the mistake of stopping.

Maybe it's flu.

I made it up at 11.30am Tuesday and watched two Dario Argento movies. I had two crispbreads for lunch. Some mashed potato for tea. I have some fruit in sight. And an early night.

Exercise.

It's bad for you, I tell you.