Working lunch

Managed a lunchtime run around Hyde Park and Kensington Palace Gardens on Wednesday. Didn't see Kate or William, but did encounter several very noisy squirrels. Given their location, I imagine they were of royal descent. What was a little strange is they seemed to congregate together in little groups, clicking at each other. I presumed it was some sort of mating ritual as opposed to busking. Turned out to be a nice little run and has given me hope this Sunday's Regent's Park 10k will go smoothly.

(Stats: 4.34 miles; 43 minutes; 9.54 minute/mile)

A brief trip

After a bank holiday weekend away I resolved to run as soon as I got home. And I did. It was only three miles, but it was preferable to watching telly and eating Kettle Chips (which is what I did immediately afterwards).

Stats: 3 miles; 30 minutes; 10 minute/mile.

Pic: Yesterday I met the 'Warmley Giant'. If you find yourself near Bristol and fancy a delightfully eccentric afternoon out, you could do worse than visit Kingswood Heritage Museum and Gardens. A testament to the inventiveness and ingenuity of one of the UK's most interesting, albeit least known, industrialists - William Champion.

The uncertainty principle

Tonight I was reminded that the more I know, the more I know nothing. Starting with the way to the heath. All these years, I've been going the long way round when I could've just run to the top of my road. Instead of 20 minutes, I was there in less than eight.

Turns out my geography is terrible on a microcosmic level - and on a macro one, too. I got home from my shorter-than-anticipated run and, via a brief chat with my housemate, discovered I hold some highly inaccurate views on which countries belong to which continents. I blame 'World Studies'. It wasn't a proper GCSE. Suffice to say, I will be spending the evening with Wikipedia.

(Stats: 3 miles; 30 minutes; 10 minute/mile.)

Toto, we're not in Turkey anymore

Ah... the heady aroma of cigarette smoke and exhaust fumes. Nothing like running down Finchley Road at rush hour to rid your lungs of that nasty fresh sea air.

Still, I went out this morning keen to capitalize on the post-holiday fitness. Always good to strike while the iron is, if not hot, then certainly tepid.

As it was raining, I put on my Montane lightweight jacket. Highly recommend it. Very comfortable and can be tied round your waist when you're struggling up Primrose Hill, can't breathe and think your face is going to explode. Speaking hypothetically, of course.

In an bizarre move I was later to regret, I came home and did an exercise DVD - the Tracy Anderson Mat Workout. She promises long lean limbs and sculpted small muscles. I want that. However, after an hour and a half run, I found it a small bridge too far. I only managed three sections and had to stop for a lie-down. I'm still in pain now, which means it's definitely doing some good. Long leanness here I come.

Pic: My superhealthy breakfast: sardines, tomatoes, onions and scrambled eggs on toast with spinach. And a green tea. Yep. Day 2 and holiday motivation still there.

(Stats: 8.37 miles; 1 hour 25 minutes; 10.09 minute/mile. Legs, arms and abs section of the Mat Method.)

One week in Foca

Five. That's how many times I've been running in the past week. Unprecedented. And thanks to the hotel fitness team (and a couple of energetic fellow guests) I was much faster than usual. That's to say, I didn't stop and have a cup of tea en route.

The aim of my holiday was to revive my mojo, crushed under the weight of Domino's and hours of CSI. The sporty Hotel Phokaia proved the perfect place to do it.

Along with my 'morning jog', I windsurfed (moderately successful, stayed on the board 80% of the time), wakeboarded (also moderately successful), paddle boarded (afloat 100% of the time) and had many, many treatments at the spa (extremely successful, did not fall off the therapy bed once).

And the best bit was wandering around Foca, a lovely little Aegean fishing village where I ate a lot of calamari and practised my Turkish. The latter was surprisingly successful. There was one memorable occasion when I thought I'd asked for the bill and discovered I'd ordered an extra portion of pide (Turkish bread with various toppings). It tasted lovely so I didn't consider this a failure.

So, if you're feeling battered after the winter, I highly recommend a trip to Foca. Lovely weather (even with the storms) and very lovely people.

Pic: Fishermen playing catch with the seagulls. Apparently this happens once a week.

(Stats: boiling hot; two big storms; chased by wild dogs; trod on a sea urchin; learned to tack; failed to jibe; progressed to the rope; mojo revived.)

Total immersion

Many years ago I had a Peugeot 307. It looked shit hot. Unfortunately, it was only half those things. Most days it would refuse to start. I'd take it to the garage. They'd get it going. Next day, it would give up again. And again. And again.

I was reminded of my poor little Peugeot in light of recent attempts to get 'back into exercise'. The odd run here and there has not resulted in a renewed commitment. Half-hearted is a half-overstatement. Hence, I've decided to take more drastic action...

I've booked a holiday to Turkey.

I won't, however, be lying prostrate on a sun lounger, scoffing calamari and bellowing at frightened waiters. No, this time I will be getting fit.

Windsurfing. Wakeboarding. Mountain biking. It's an activities holiday and I intend to leave no activity un-activated. Furthermore, in between press-ups and star jumps, I'm going to visit the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus. She was the Greek Goddess of Hunting. I suspect her job kept her in shape so feel she is the perfect role model. Though, to clarify, I won't be hunting anything. I love animals and if I caught a fox, I'd just want to give him a cuddle. (Providing he wasn't too mangy. I feel the same about men.)

Stats: one week in Foca; sea view with balcony; forecast for storms and rain - dammit!

(Pic: Apropos of nothing, here is a pic of the beautiful holiday cottage I stayed in last weekend in Beer, Devon, and the greedy seagull who tried to steal our sausage rolls. He was unsuccessful.)