Thing 211 Fast for 24 Hours

I once fasted for about twenty four hours. This counts as a new Thing on the grounds that the last time I spent the whole night sleeping, and all day under heavy anesthetic during surgery while some Doctors broke my leg and re-set it all over again. So there was no hunger, no aching for food. No sacrifice. So while I've technically fasted before, I've never done so when I could actually feel it. Hence... new Thing.

What you're seeing in terms of the picture up there, is what happened afterwards, but more on that later.

The Frenchman and Pony Boy whipped up some serious grub on Tuesday night. I'm talking proper junk food. For a man who's trying to run a little and get more exercise, it probably wasn't wise to gorge myself on a pile of taco fries and burgers, but it would have been rude not to. I looked like a pastier version of Slimer from Ghostbusters, stuffing my face. Nice.

At half ten at night, I ate for the last time on Tuesday. I know, that's late, don't judge me. You're not the boss of me you know. I went to bed happy. I woke up relatively happy too. I went to work, and on my break I walked past the canteen, just to test myself... The smells.... Oh god the smells. Fry up, coffee, bacon, eggs, hash browns... and none of it for me. My stomach made a noise, that spelled phonetically looks like this: Grrrrrreuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrreeuuuuggghhhhyyyyyeaaarrrrggggghh.

It made this noise on the half hour for the remainder of the day. I ran away for lunch hour, afraid to be seen near anything resembling food. In the second half of the day, things started looking like food. Water cooler - not unlike a fully roasted side of beef. Paper with doodles on it - eerily similar to a plate of spaghetti. It was a Simpson's moment. Everyone started looking like grub.

I turned on the United match when I got home. Twenty two chicken drumsticks running around the pitch. In HD. I nearly licked the screen.
Of course, given that I've a penchant for being impulsive, I was becoming restless with just half an hour to go. And I asked Pony Boy to order pizza. For the second night in a row it was junk food at half ten at night. And how. You should have seen me go... Taz has nothing on me when I'm in a feeding frenzy.

There's no doubt that it's a strange one. I'm so used to nibbling when hungry that not doing it seems ridiculous. Deliberately avoiding food make a mockery of one of my own personal commandments. Nonetheless... this time round, the fasting could be felt. I'll never have a row with my stomach again...

Thing 210 Aerobics Class

Oh just look at fatty there sweating his little head off. Wait, his fat head. It is a rather large melon. At the best of times I'm a lazy bum, and at the worst of times... well, you don't want to know, but it involves grease. Lots of grease. After six months on the sideline since the marathon, there's been no major exercise till last week.

I started with a couple of runs. Nothing stressful. Five miles. Jogging, at almost no pace at all. I'm comfortable with that. Barely moving is worse than not moving at all while sitting on my ass, but it's better than actual running. Took me a week to get into it, but I'm managing it fine now. So I thought I'd take a pop at aerobics. Can't be that hard. Light engaging workout to the same music that petrol heads blare as they drive their johnny-go-fast-cars up William Street at twenty five thousand miles an hour. Easy peasy...
No. No, no, no. And worse than it not being easy was the fact that every other woman there looked like they were having fun, not trying to keep Death's scythe from chopping through their puffing lungs.

That's a thing you probably guessed about aerobics. There's not that many men. In fact, I was the only one, aside from the instructors. I took my place at the beginners lot, right down the back. The instructor assumed I was gay. Or at least I think he did. He cracked a joke about how everyone in the class should pay attention to his instructions, and stop preening themselves for all the boys benefit. He seemed to be looking at me as he said it. I'm not trying to impress the boys dammit!!

Then he started moving. Quickly and erratically. First his legs went left, then they did a stepping bit, then he turned on the spot and walked up a little step. Then he repeated. I did what I thought was the same thing but involved more grunting and sweating on my part. It also made me trip over my feet. The good grace of the ladies taking part in the class was all that prevented them from breaking themselves laughing.
There's Betty Boop and me just before my head began leaking massive amounts of liquid.

Exercise is important. Everyone should do it. And by everyone, I mean all of you. Not me. Or at very least not this type. There's an exercise type for everyone. In Token Northy's case, he likes weights, but not running. I dislike weights, mostly because I don't know what individual reps are working what muscles. I do like running though. Only because it's straightforward. In a straight line from my house to a point. Then back. I don't have to worry about what muscles are being worked. I just have to keep running till I'm home. Forrest Gump style.

There's a bit more Forrest Gump in me than I'd care to admit actually.

Thing 209 Crack A Walnut with a Sledge

If I can describe a rainy day as a monsoon, I'm happy. If I can hear a song I enjoy and tell you that it gave my ear an orgasm, I'm happy. This is ground already covered, but I do love hyperbole. Dr Frasier is quite literal, which is fine if you're so inclined, but I think life is more fun if every minor story could involve dragons. Honestly, some of my stories involve dragons. And I think I can get away with it. I think people will buy it. They do not.

The phrase "cracking a walnut with a sledge" pretty much sums me up. Why use ten words when three hundred will do? Why let it slide when I can rant about it for an hour and a half? Why use one or two bad analogies when you can load up this entire paragraph with them? See what I mean?

When I added this to the list people told me they didn't get it. I told them it was a real phrase that I didn't totally make up. No one believed me. Apparently I lack credibility. It might be the beard.

It's totally a real phrase. Have a look.

HERE!! CLICK!!

It's one of them there analogies that I like to stretch out. Like walking in Pony Boy's shoes for a mile. Or looking for a needle in a haystack. Next to hyperbole, I like being smug. So when the Project is over, and someone mentions smashing a walnut with a sledge, I'll be smug, and I'll mention how I've done that before. And be smug.

The sledge is a nice heavy hammer, clumsy, difficult to wield and hard to aim. The walnut is a small but tricky little nut that would be difficult to hit with a regular hammer. With a sledge, it was damn near impossible, and swinging that massive yolk while giggling like a child makes it even harder.

Smashed it good though. What was left of the nut wasn't fit to eat, which I guess is most of the point when it comes to walnuts. I wasn't hungry anyway. I was all for smashing things. And I slaked that thirst...

Thing 208 Double Date

Alright there's a reason for this ridiculous photo. It's because the guy that went on the double date didn't know I was planning to blog about it, and then I didn't want to be asking for his photo, because that would be all kinds of creepy and wrong. Can you just imagine that conversation: Hello complete stranger I've just met. Smile and say cheese. I want to put your photo on the internet...

Now that I think about it... he might actually be reading this... hello.

This was a classic television/movie style double date. The Thief, her best friend Jacko, and a thoroughly nice chap who Jacko decided to invite on the date. Which means that while the two ladies who know each other a long time can chat about this and that, me and Newbie can sit opposite each other and try not to be awkward.

Double dating is fine for seasoned couples. Usually the couples know each other. They're mates. The fellas have hung around with one another. The girls know each other inside out. Double date is easy. When you ad a new guy to the mix you end up with a really awkward moment.

Tell me if you think I'm wrong here, but guys don't just chat with guys they don't know. There's a real unusual stand off. Not quite two strange cats in a room, but something along those lines. What are we supposed to talk about...?

Maybe I'm completely wide of the mark, maybe it was just me who felt a little awkward. Then of course, because he's new on the scene, The Thief was examining him, as I assume all best friends do for their girlfriends. She stood there silently analysing him. While I stood there silently being awkward and Jacko cooked. Sounds comfy right?

For a finish it was all good. Friendly. We all chatted. Ate dinner and (shudder) watched X Factor. Very pleasant, very polite. Just that first few minutes that killed me. I'm too young to double date dammit!! That's for people in their thirties or something... I've another three and a half years before that's me.

P.S. Dinner was unreal. Jacko can cook and then some. She may even be better than me. Who am I kidding? I burn toast. Six year olds can cook better than me. Compliments to the chef...

Thing 207 Random Acts of Kindness

Alright, I'll grant you that this is an exceptionally mushy and ridiculous picture. But it was the first thing that popped up when I typed "kindness" into google. And I'm too lazy to keep looking for a better one. So very lazy...

Honestly. Very, very lazy.

Down the line there's going to be a day when I say "yes" all day. But today was all about being nice for no reason, other than being nice. Which really should be a good enough reason on its own, but I prefer being cranky for the sake of being cranky. It suits my personality better.

It started with cakes/cookies. I went to the Milk Market, as I do of a Saturday these days. I bought cakes for my da. Decided I'd bring them out and watch some of the England v New Zealand match. While I was there I grabbed an extra handful. Walking down the street I stopped off to offer all of them to a group of people standing around having a chat. Free cake. Who doesn't love free cake? Apparently they just thought I was a weirdo. Mumbled some thanks, and stared at me goggle eyed. Still I thought it was nice.

On the way to Ma and Da's I spotted someone walking through Corbally in the lashing rain. I pulled in, rolled down the window and asked if they'd like a lift anywhere. Eh, no thanks was the reply. And then she looked at me like I had two heads and was in fact, a complete weirdo. So being nice makes me look odd...

Went to town to watch the match.

Parked up and spotted a guy locked out of his car. I went over and offered my phone to call some who cared. No, I jest. I gave him the phone to call someone who might have spare keys. He did not look at me like I was a complete weirdo. Nice.

I went to Clohessey's to see the end of the United match, and waited till someone went up to the counter to order drinks, then I paid for them for that person. Not only did he not look at me like a weirdo, but he came over and shook my hand. Delighted. To be fair, it was free drinks, I'd shake someone's hand if they bought me a pint for no reason.

Then I went to the shop to get some dinner, so I could cook for the lads at home. That wasn't a good deed for the day, I was probably going to do that one way or another, but I planned on dressing it up as a good deed. While en route I picked up a rose for The Thief and one for the lady at the checkout... and bang. We're back to people looking at me like a weirdo. She looked ever so slightly impressed, but mostly, she thought I was out of my tiny little mind. And the other people in the queue joined in the silent judging. The Frenchman giggled the whole way out of the shop.

What's the moral of the story? If you're going to be nice for no reason, people are going to think you're a complete nutjob.

Oddly enough, they wouldn't be half wrong when it comes to me now would they?

Thing 206 Ice Bath

After a run, I'm partial to a nice cool shower. Not too cool. Just enough to stop me sweating like a stuck pig, which I usually am straight after a run... It happens to most slightly overweight people who don't do any exercise for six months and still talk about the marathon they once ran... ahem.

Thought I was going to lose both lungs and sweat off about two stone... Six months of sitting on my ass, it was bound to come to this. It's no wonder Thorny Wire calls me Fatosaurus. Anywho...

They talk about the benefits of hot and cold therapy. An ice bath straight after training. Then a hot shower. Or a sauna and then a freezing cold shower. There are science bits to explain it, but they're lost on me. I'm slightly stupid at the best of times.
That there children, is the face of someone who who doesn't like his current seat. This isn't the cold of waking up without your quilt on, or walking outside without enough layers in November. This is a deep and painful cold. It numbs at first, then it stings. Then your feet feel nothing, then your housemates start bursting themselves laughing and take some photos of you.

They're sympathy, as always, overwhelmed me. I'm only glad Token Northy wasn't there, it's bad enough with Pony Boy and The Frenchman, but when you've got all three, that's when you're in trouble.
It's not just bad while you're in there. It almost gets worse when you're out. I decided to shower, a nice hot shower to get the blood going again. The hot water was frighteningly sore. It stings like no ones' business.

This is what happens when you're entirely unaware of the biomechanics of hot and cold therapy, you remain completely oblivious and end up screaming in your shower. Manly. And tough. That's me.

Just one more ridiculously stupid thing done in the name of this Project. I wonder if my IQ drops every time I do crap like this?

Thing 205 Eat a Vindaloo

I used to think that I liked spicy food. Well, I still like spicy food, or at least what I think is spicy food, but is in fact, natural yogurt compared to what is considered actually spicy food. Alright that sentence appears to make no sense. What I mean to say is: I enjoy eating what I consider spicy, which I thought everyone else considered spicy. I moved in with Pony Boy, Token Northy and The Frenchman. These people apparently think dinner is an opportunity to test your manhood and all of them deeply enjoy masochism. This is when I learned that spicy is actually mild, and what they call spicy should come with a health warning and a fire extinguisher.

So when I saw Pony Boy order a Vindaloo, that staple of British diet, that artificially enhanced spice plate of pure hotness and the stuff of British stand-up comedian legends, and then promptly sweat to death, I decided to strike it from my list. There's no way, if it makes the Pony Boy sweat like a stuck pig, that I'm ever going to be able to handle it. It will not make the list. Because I don't want it to kill me. Because I'm too young to die (just to clarify, that was hyperbole, Pony Boy didn't die from Thai Food).
It was the unofficial anthem of the English football team in 1998. That'll tell you how popular it is. Mind you, things can change fast. If a vindaloo got sent off for kicking an Argentinian it's popularity probably would have plummeted, but that's a different kettle of fish.

In western countries it's often served with potatoes, but that's not a traditional vindaloo. The real deal was never served with potatoes, so I didn't get mine with them. Like many other things on this list, it's one of those that required a "dive in" approach.

This is the tactic of not thinking about it, just doing it. Spend no time at all considering the consequences, just order, dig in and worry about it the next day.
That's how much of it I manged to eat. That's not bad is it? That's pretty much most of it. Couple of scraps of rice managed to dodge the fork, but the vast majority of it was eaten.

The results: My face leaked buckets of sweat. My mouth tingled like someone had just lit one of those sparklers in it. Tears formed and then were scrubbed out. The Thief looked like she was going to burst herself from laughing at my near tears. This isn't eating. This isn't dinner, and it's not a meal. It's a hazing rite of passage for an American fraternity. It's penance for sins that the church hasn't got names for. It's the mandatory sentence for repeat juvenile offenders and flashers.

Why? I have to ask: Why would anyone do this to themselves? Who enjoys this? Are there people out there, who, when hungry, say to themselves; Man, you know what would hit the spot now? Some roasting hot fire inside my mouth. I'd really go for an inferno in my stomach, and I thoroughly look forward to the aftereffects when I need to use a bathroom tomorrow...

I didn't die. But it's going to be a long, long time before I order Thai food again...