For the next twelve weeks I have a set of exercises to follow that are blinding in their simplicity. I have to do 25 pull ups. I can do that once a week or seven times a week. I can do it 25 at a time, or five lots of five, or twenty five lots of one pull up at a time, but every week I need to do 25 pull ups on at least one day
Until the difficulty ranps up and it changes to 30 pull ups.
About the only thing worse for me than pull ups are push ups, so I wasn’t exactly looking forward to this. However, I planned it out: I can probably do about a pull up once a minute, for 25 minutes, so that wasn’t going to be too much out of my schedule. Tonight, after I’d managed to get the girls at least half asleep, I snuck out to the exercise area near our apartment and started on the torture.
I could do five pull ups (the quality getting worse and worse as they went on) in about a minute. Then I listened to some encouraging music for 90 seconds and did five more, and then discovered that for the rest of the session I wouldn’t be doing more than 3 in one go. Still, despite my fingers and palms being sore, I battled through to the end – only 18 minutes, so I’d got 7 minutes back. I trotted hone, got my scooter and went out for a quick 30 minute climb to reward myself for this exertion.
Apparently I huffed a lot at the wall today. I didn’t notice, I was too busy breathing. Then home to watch an exciting MotoGP race from Austria, and to bed. (I got three hours sleep between Margaret River and the office today, so I need a bit more rest.)