Saturday was a ridiculous screen day as I managed to watch the following:

• Two women’s world cup football matches (England beat Columba 2-1)
• One rugby league challenge cup final
• One international rugby game. (England beat Wales)
• The entire 3rd series of Strike
• Half of Highlander.

Somewhere in that I also went shopping at the garden centre for food and eat meals. No wonder I was too knackered to write a blog on the day. I just took my night meds and fell into bed with a sense of delicious decadency at having used a day in such a way but then hey I’m retired so why not, I do not have to be productive any more, although I did clear the kitchen and put the dishwasher on before crashing into bed, so I consider that my contribution for the day.

Sunday I wake up to my partner bringing me a decaf coffee. I weigh myself before drinking it and find although I have put on weight I have not crashed through the obese, fat bastard barrier of 98 kilos, I shade it at 97.8 kilos. My partner and I chat and then we ready ourselves for the gym. She is going to train and I am going for a change of scenery and a hot chocolate. I’ve also decided to radically reduce my screen time as yesterday was way too much for me, I shall read instead and confine my screen time to the blog and perhaps a little evening TV. At the gym my partner disappears off to the changing rooms and I settle down with a book, but my brain pixies interrupt me and I find myself writing two poems. I do not know where this stuff comes from. Clearly its from my head, I do not fish them out of some sort of ethereal ether but I’ve no understanding of the why and when questions that arise. Any way I set aside my reading and pick up my current journal/note book and begin to scribble. It is always the same I have no conscious idea of what’s coming but clearly my unconscious decides its time to dump whatever its been work on and out it pops from the end of my pen. Apparently on this occasion it was time for me to confront my waistline. This is what the result was.

Its time, 
to say farewell,
bite the bullet
and concede to the scythe
like the inevitable harvest.
I yield.
Carefully I select
the items
and with them the memories.
With each comes stitched
in remembrances.
Each pair a transitional item
that will be jettisoned,
recycled or forgotten.
This is reality confrontation
at a brutal level, 
a mirror that wont be denied
and is now avoided.
I'm never going to to be the same 
and gone is the possibility.
I am beyond any clever fix
My waist will never again be 36.

Well this was a bit of a surprise even though I had been recently contemplating storage issues around the number of ice hockey shirts I have acquired. I write another more dark piece but that can wait for another day. My partner re-joins me and we have coffee before returning home.

Once home I decide I can no longer put off training, I’ve been feeling shit lately and I know the only way to lift it is to physically exercise. Its not rocket science or therapy, it just how it is. If I do not train I do not counteract the side effects of the chemo and I do get the endorphin lift that I need either. Its been 17 days since I trained for fear of pissing blood after training so today will be the gentlest I can manage. I set myself up on the rower and select thirty minutes at my low level and set off. I am desperate to earn PSI points on my fitness App as I have not been above 100 for days and my fitness age has crashed from 41 to 52 in this short time. Everything screams decline despite all the other arithmetic saying I am doing well. So for half an hour I gently row. I still get hot and sweaty and elevate my heart rate but I am not going to reach my normal levels. I know that and I am content with that. By the end I’ve done a session at about 80% effort adn still go over 5 kilometres and 300+ calories. That will do me today.

I change and do my vitals as I listen to the radio on my ear buds until I feel recovered. At this point art leads to life and I take out all the waist size 36 trousers from my wardrobe space and rearrange my ice hockey jerseys. What I am left with is a strange collection of leg wear. Two pairs of jeans, 2 pairs of burgundy trousers, a bright yellow pair of golf trousers and a pair of brown herring bone Oxford bags. I guess I might be shopping in the not so distant future. I have to admit the yellow golf trousers are a bit bright even for me, where was my head when I bought them I wonder. I have just about finished this adventure when I am told my youngest daughter is face timing us. Before going to join the call I go for a pee and to my relief there is no sign of blood, I cannot express what a relief that is. I join the conversation and it is clear from the off that my youngest daughter is knackered and just wants to rest so I keep the conversation short and let her get the rest she needs. As I am back on the sofa I start to draft the blog, it already feels that I’ve spent too long looking at a screen evening.

My evening meanders towards its conclusion, mostly screens and then my night meds. Today was a reasonable start, lets see what tomorrow brings.