The Long and Arduous Moving Walkway

Walking up an escalator this morning hurt. And not for the normal reasons of having to think of new excuses to avoid the unwashed students asking for just 5 minutes of my time with their infuriating cheeriness and wacky leg-warmers and good causes and.... other things that make me sound like Mr Scrooge. I've recently upped the ante with the leg weights during my boring visits to the gym. So not only are the people in the gym subject to unexpected bouts of flatulence as I strain ever sinew, so are the commuters behind me as I struggle valiantly to lift my legs up the stairs the following morning.
And so begins what may be a tedious 8 months of healthy living and constant exercise. And sticking true to my Kenny Bania character, I revel in telling everybody that I'm not drinking, not eating skin or sauce on chicken, and talking about the amount of reps I'm doing. I reason that I'm a pest no matter what the situation, so at least health & fitness is a valid topic to annoy people about, and if I didn't have the motivation, then I wouldn't go to the gym and end up having to wash myself with a rag on a stick after taking up a Marlon Brando style attitude towards my own body.
The first tests of my endurance will be coming soon, in the form of a 10k fun run and a 3 peaks challenge. I'm seriously thinking of starting litigation over this whole 'fun run' thing though. Whoever thinks running is, in any of it's incarnations, a form of 'fun' really needs to experience a few of life’s finer points. Such as midget-tossing or strip-bars.
The 3 peaks challenge will be a nice little taster for trekking. This will involve scaling Ben Nevis (1344m), Scafell Pike (978m), and Snowdon (1085m). And yes, I deliberately chose the most foreboding pictures for dramatic effect. Whilst this sounds fairly achievable individually, I must stress that we are doing all 3 in the space of a weekend. Which equates to 14 hours trekking and 450 miles driving. Without the undoubted help of unleashing the awesome power of apples.
Then again I could scrap all that and take the route suggested by my mate Luke, which involves threatening the Sherpa's, getting them to make a bamboo throne, sit on said throne, and have them carry me the entire way up whilst I whip them with the fervour of a hungry arctic explorer hurrying along their huskies. Both options have their merits.
On the fame front, I'm currently being outdone by Glen. Prick. I'll beat his crappy south london paper. Just you wait. But never fear, I won't let jealousy get in the way, especially from some weird looking, girly-voiced beardo who so often lets his captain down with poor shot selection and an inability to land the ball in the other half of the pitch when he is bowling.