Being born lacking either the sports spectator or the TV repeat enthusiasts gene, I don’t need too much encouragement to remove my carcass from the couch for a spot of exercise. The thought of a training schedule however will normally have me inventing some excuse for avoidance, like the urgent need to rearrange my sock drawer.
However the nice people at google, who provide me with free personal guidance, inform me that many do in fact train for the TGO. So entering into the spirit of things, I’ve taken inspiration from that classic 60’s black & white film, ‘The Hill’ starring Sean Connery. All I needed….was a convenient hill.
Hills, all be they small ones, are not something that are in short supply where I live in Calderdale. Situated in the south Pennines I can’t leave the house without being immediately faced with something that strains my calf muscles. And since I live 900ft up, it doesn’t take a too much mental effort either to march down to the local pub 550ft below. But being also deficient in the short term memory gene, I repeatedly fail to take account of the lung bursting ascent back home.
I think Mr Connery though would approve of the profile of my chosen evening training route, direct from my front door.
There’s one thing which strikes me about ‘The Hill’ on watching it again; they appear to have employed a poorly qualified PE instructor. It’s little wonder half the men are collapsing after a couple of ascents if they’re only ever exercising one muscle group. What they needed was variety.
With that in mind my cunning plan has been to build my evening training walk into other regular chores, one of which is shovelling horse poo at some local stables. You see another hobby of mine involves owning and attempting to ride a ginger horse known simply as Chesney (namesake from Coronation St, not the one who sang ‘I am the one and only’). His sole purpose in life appears to be trying to deck me and producing copious amounts of rose bed fertiliser. So a quick diversion via the stables to shovel his stall clear of the aforementioned, neatly provides me with a full body workout.
So there we have it. The perfect TGO evening training routine which fits neatly into my everyday life, is on the door step, and does my bit for animal welfare too?
They went up like men! They came down like animals! Only in my case I leap eagerly down the lane like a young gazelle, and come back up smelling of horse poo.
(Incidentally, the pub at the bottom is called the Lord Nelson, once the favoured watering hole of a certain Mr Bramwell Bronte who by all accounts descended into a life of sex, drugs and literature)