Last night I got soaked riding to and from work, but I didn’t mind. Normally by now I would’ve been drenched many times, but thanks to a lack of precipitation, not so this year. It’s fairly adrenaline heavy, since people getting out of their cars are trying not to get wet, so they slam open their doors, usually right in front of me. Lance Armstrong has a unique way of dealing with this kind of thing, which is best described as insane violence, but I prefer to take the high road and just make sure I can slow down before getting knocked into the path of oncoming traffic.

Yesterday I worked out solo for the first time in ages, without the guiding (crazy) hand of my beloved trainer, Steve. I saw my friend Jade on Monday, she’s been training like a demon, and I was inspired to get my act together - after all, being a trainer does seem to suggest the ability to train yourself. When I woke up this morning, my arms were locked into a t-rex style position, and needed to be drenched with warm water before they could be convinced to move. I can now gyrate wildly when necessary, but the insertion point of my biceps is still sore.

So we’ll see how long this latest workout regime lasts. I ran today, both loving and hating it at the same time. I’m not convinced about running on a treadmill - I think I’m too uncoordinated to do it properly. Yet I’ll happily force other people to do it on a daily basis …

And now I’m exhausted. This week seems to have been especially long, and today, aided by exhaustion, I came to a big decision, which is after the start of next term, I’m going to hire a cleaner to deal with my filthy house. And I won’t even clean up before they get here.

Today I’m loving: my daughter, who can sing an entire Tom Waits song in fairly convincing gravel tones