Dog & Tone

Hello dear readers!

There’s something Thomas Edison once said about perspiration and inspiration.

No, I’m not claiming any kind of genius (or even moderate intelligence), nor am I going to delve into percentages or other convoluted mathematics in the post that follows. In fact the only reason I mention the above reference is that, having lived a wholesomely quiet life this week inspiration has been a little on the lacking side.

Luckily perspiration came to the rescue; and in a way you might not expect.

Sweating It
Now before you get too many mental images of a sweat soaked seated person and stop reading from a very understandable sense of disgust, I promise that this is not that type of post. There will be no pictures of your friendly neighbourhood blogger in any states of undress, no stained underarms, and no strange odours emanating from this esteemed publication. Instead what I’m edging madly round is my own increasingly needed quest to find a way to work up the aforementioned bodily secretions.



Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I need to lose a lot of weight. Since joining Slimming World about a year ago I have, in fact, shed a whopping two and a half stone or so of, well, basically, fat. No, I don’t need to drop a dress size, but what I do need to do is to kick this, admittedly reduced, body in to to some kind of shape.

This, you see, is where the perspiration may well need to come in.


Exercises In Futility
Now anyone who has had the somewhat dubious pleasure of following these outpourings may remember some of the challenges that I face when it comes to getting some regular exercise. Gymnasiums, many peoples go-to destination for exercise are not made for me, ore indeed any wheelchair user. Treadmills, exercise bikes, cross-trainers, and even rowing machines. All of these have one thing in common. They depend on the user having a lower body strength and flexibility that, well I just don't have.

Weights and the machines targeted to the upper body are much more my speed, although I’m always a little wary about bulking up the torso at the expense of my less than meaty legs. It kind of gives the impression,  in my opinion, of a body building merman. Not the best of looks.

There’s also the expense angle to look at too. Gyms are not exactly known for being cheap as, um, chips (kale chips maybe? No?). Being a little on the cash strapped side since my diagnosis of MS, and the subsequent decision to leave the world of work, makes a regular trip to the land of Lycra pretty much unaffordable. So what are the alternatives?

Parklife

Well, although I am currently cash poor, I do find my self time rich, this in itself opens up a few avenues. These spare hours, coupled with what will hopefully be something close to a summer, means that days out with the dog to one of the many parks scattered around this corner of England’s green and pleasant land are a definite option. It was an option that, alongside my wonder-woman wife, Tina I tried out last week.

We hit Leeds’ Roundhay park and walked (or trundled) round the grounds pretty much all afternoon (with a small stop for a reasonably decent coffee). On a warm and sunny afternoon walking Bonnie, our springador, around the lake and letting her have a little run over a slightly less populated patch of grass was absolute bliss. Tina managed to burn slightly in the unseasonal sun but that really was the only downside to the day. It’s something I’m definitely putting on the to-do list for the coming clement months.

What else?

Going Swimmingly
Well, I have also heard tell of something called a KAL (Kirklees Active Leisure) card. This gives discounted entry to local sports centres and, most eye-catchingly, swimming pools. I swim (or actively non-drown) like a sackful of house-bricks (definitely put to shame by my niece Holly, a future Olympian in my eyes), but it is good exercise, works the whole body and coupled with a little more general activity could have the desired effect of toning me up. Maybe, given a bit of time, I can turn the tum into a six-pack, or at least less of a saggy bag of second hand booze. Maybe the moobs can become pecs again. It’s got to be worth a go, hasn’t it?

Until next time…