Back to the howling old owl in the woods, hunting the hornyback toad

Well thats what happens when you haven't exercised in a while

My reaction to that comment was much like Peter Griffin's when he'd heard that Lois gave up the opportunity of a million dollars as not to complicate their love (stunned silence whilst imagining a graphic death by gunshot, constructing a bonfire, covering the body in petrol, and burning it). It came as a reaction to my gait appearing a little ginger as I walked to get the milk from the kitchen at work. 'Oh what's wrong with you' came the idle chit-chat from the anonymous back-office staff member, 'Oh I've had a big weekend training, very stiff and sore today' came the I'm-faking-joviality-to-avoid-the-coffee-making-induced-awkwardness-of-me-not-caring-who-you-are reply. And that's what lead to the above comment. I twitched a little, imagined her painful and fiery death, and responded 'y--ye---- yeah, yeah that sounds, that sounds about right... yeah'..

I resisted telling her, that, actually... you f*cking little busy-body, this is what my f*cking week involved. On Monday, I ran the 3km Lap around Chelsea and Albert Bridge. Not only that, I did it three f*cking times. And that's not all, I also did the 4 x 400m sprints. And to top it off, there was 5 laps of the 3 sets of stairs on the Pagoda. And the only people to keep me company were Kiwi, Charlie Campbell, Glen, and JC. And those guys can f*cking RUN. Chuck in another 5km on Tuesday, you b*tch, and then an hour long nets session straight after. Thursday, I threw myself at the mercy of The Sharlands at the Trim Trail at a cold and wet Battersea Park... but you'd have no f*cking clue what that even begins to entail.... as you stir your frankly ridiculous cup of herbal tea... would you??? And then there was the weekend in Oxford... well.........

In all fairness to her, to look at me you wouldn't automatically think 'World Record Attemptee' (not to be confused with world record amputee) for anything other than 'most people simultaneously annoyed at ANZ Stadium during a Bronco's match'... and especially not for a sporting record... at altitude. It was with this in mind that Team Tenzing headed to Vice-Captain G-Units country pad in Sunningwell for a weekend of the fitness freak holding the whip hand. On the trip up I was mentioning I desperately needed a nap, the same direct side-effect of nervousness that affected me on the way to the Brecon's a couple of weeks back. The village was everything I expected it to be, and I could quite easily see G retiring there in his fifties as the sole policeman, solving baffling crimes on a weekly basis whilst nursing an ale, smoking a cigar, and wearing almost head-to-toe tweed, pausing long enough only for a fleeting love interest back-story. I watch too many TV programmes aimed at my parents demographic.

The best weather of the year (clear blue skies, temperatures in double figures.... all these things are relative) kindly greeted us upon our arrival. The 6-mile run, however, didn't greet us as so much punch us right in the face. Or more to the point, repeatedly dig me in the lower back. Hills, Marshes, Muddy Patches, Fence Jumping... all confirming my theory that fitness fanatics are not in tune with evolution. We have moved forward through horses, carts, automobiles, and now planes to negotiate this sort of cr*p. So why THE F*CK am I doing this? Oh, the Everest trip. Ok fair enough, but why the fricken bejeeesus would somebody want to do this off their own back? Do people really think this makes them feel good? What is this type of person's problem? Running is ridiculous. Get a freakin Mini-Cab. The 6 miler was interspersed around some dips and press-ups in Dogging-Central, a wheelbarrow race that I couldn't take part in as my partner for the day was coming from London via Dorset, and also several breaks. Several breaks for the others, that is, as they waited for Mark and I to pant our respective ways back up with the group. I must thank She-Unit (Laura) for keeping my spirits high on this run with her encouraging shouts, random high-fives, clicking of heels, and general cocker-spaniel-like enthusiasm. It seems allot easier with a smile on your face. To finish off, we partook in some hill sprints. 4 of them for me personally but more for some of the other idiots. These were about 100metres long up a deceptively steep hill, with around half of it at full pace. Follow this link here for a video of G making it look pretty easy back before 3-peaks.

I'd like to talk about what happened in the afternoon, however Wes has put a suppression order on us, lest Hillary find out. What I will say, is that the afternoon gave us probably the best insight as to what we'll go through during the actual match. We were constantly moving, feeling a little claustrophobic, having to make decisions whilst exhausted, and learning to keep our cool. During the course of the afternoon, we covered at least 10km in shuttle sprints, however the sprinting was mere 'moving forward' towards the end. This was also the scene of my first loss of sense of humour for the trip. Thankfully it wasn't over something as petty as say, a score in an inconsequential game we were playing. I'll relay the actual words said, and the thought process in italics afterwards. To set the scene, we were all completely dog-tired...

Kinsey - Tooves you're on 8 (I think he's on 8, man I'm tired)
Me - How the f*ck can I be on 8, I was on that 4 f*cking ----- ago (this pr1ck is trying to do me over so he can win. man I'm real tired)
Kinsey - Sorry, I think you're on 9 then (bit of an over-reaction... I could use a rest)
Me - Are you even f*cking counting? (get back to your f*cking apples.... wow I'm really REALLY tired)
Kinsey - Tooves I'm doing my best to run and count, give me a break (what was he actually on... I need to catch my breath)
Me - Well if you think about it, I'm on at least f*cking 12 (is he serious, is he f*cking serious??? deeep breath deeeeeep breaths)
Kinsey - Shall we call it 10 (He's got a bat in his hands)
Me - Oh F*ck me, alright then

At the end of non-stop afternoon, interrupted only by a completely village performance from the reporter at BBC Oxford, it emerged that we'd burnt 2200 calories in that session alone, NOT including the 6 mile cross country and hill sprints that preceded our Area-51 shrouded in mystique I-Think-The-Cop-Is-Actually-The-Murderer mystery of an afternoon's activities.

By this stage, my back was a mess. I could barely move but was happy with the days activities and the joyous shower that awaited. Dinner followed at Fawlty Towers. More mature conversation ensued, just prior to my pilau-rice flavoured ice cream dessert. I ordered Mango. She bought out Pistachio and Saffron flavour. I shit you not, that is an actual flavour. The waitress’s advice.... 'either eat it or flick it'.... 'no chance of my money back then??'

Butler and I safely secured ourselves in our individual sleeping bags, before sleeping next to each other on the worlds smallest double bed. No touching took place. I was awoken at one stage to Butler offering me like-for-like replacements on the CV's he'd sent me earlier in the week. Dreams about work are always the best.

Sunday dawned to a horrible limp and a very grumpy Toovey as I lumped Maple Syrup on my porridge, the garlic draw, the bench, the bowl, and the floor of G's kitchen. Even some puns about being hungry for sausage did nothing for me as I packed my bag and dealt with the agony in my back in preparation for a 6 hour hike through the Chilterns. Wes mentioned he could tell I was struggling because I wasn't talking. In fact, it wasn't nearly as caring as that... more along the lines of... 'Maaaaate, I can't wait for about the 5th day on this trek when you're knackered... at least you'll be quiet' - The trek was tougher than I gave it credit for, up and down several hills and we covered nigh on 25-30km... With G perhaps not taking too kindly to our ribbing about him leading us to 2 pubs for lunch, both of which were closed. As fate would have it, we stumbled across an Indian buffet at around the 17km mark. The glorious Balti, Massala, and Sag Aloo dishes piling the calories back on. Again, Rambling proved to be truly a great form of bonding. The spare time, clear environment, and problem solving lend themselves to great team-work, particularly when everybody bands together against the map holder who has just got you lost.

4 and a half hours later and the estimated 45 minute journey home was complete. Completely seized up, I am now planning on spending my 3rd night in a row sleeping on the floor. Because that's what I get for not exercising and then pushing it too hard.....