Today, I have mostly been tracking my movements around site.
Excepting the trips around the compound, i’ve made an attempt to use the Garmin to see how far I travel in a day at work on a crutch (going to try to lose it soon so the mileage will go back to normal, ie. up as I find it possible to make smooth progress around all the worst earthworks) and the result, over 3 hours walking, is 3.7 miles. I didn’t stop it for the briefer chats with the lads, just the longer more technical problems and 3 hours is very few to be moving around – I blame a scaffold take-off, problem neighbours and general paperwork for getting in the way.
Still, nearly 4 miles on a recovering leg isn’t bad and i’ll do it again when things get going and see how far it is on a normal day.
Once home, a trip around the garden to see that the mole has defied me (the idea is apparently to dig through a tunnel, place a jar or something similar in the run, let the bugger fall in, uncover it and then take them somewhere else to live happily ever after. Get it wrong and they smell you’ve been there and dig another series of tunnels and thus molehills over the lawn. I got it right – he didn’t know I was there but decided to use the jar as a void to put some more earth. Must have thought Christmas had come early, not having to push the dirt against gravity. Bastard. Still, i’ll carry on trying.), then to see that 5 of the sunflowers have been eaten to death over night, then earthing up the potatoes, left just enough time for 20 minutes on the rower.
I hated it. Every sweaty second. And even more so when the fitness level thing said i’d progressed to 5.7. Out of 6, this means that I am indeed on the verge of death by unfitness. Ok, i’ll take that. As long as Mr. Reebok agrees to a race when i’m healed.