- Get on the treadmill (or equivalent exercise) daily
- Pace is fine at 30 min/mile, although I may up it on occasion
- Time range between 30 minutes and 1 hour per day
- Distance 1-2 miles per day
- Read the chosen book, which I won’t allow myself to read outside of my treadmill time, hopefully motivating me to reach or exceed the above goals (exception…at the end of the week where a book is highlighted, I will finish it off-treadmill so I can feature something new the next week)
Week 77: May 13, 2018 – May 19, 2018
|Sunday||30 min/mile||30:08 min:sec||1 mile|
|Monday||30 min/mile||30:34 min:sec||1 mile|
|Tuesday||30 min/mile||30:47 min:sec||1 mile|
|Wednesday||30 min/mile||30:19 min:sec||1 mile|
|Thursday||Mowed||1 hour||Front & Back|
|Friday||30 min/mile||30:55 min:sec||1 mile|
|Saturday||30 min/mile||30:10 min:sec||1 mile|
What I’m Reading
Note: Although I will try to avoid them, my weekly reading snippets may or may not contain spoilers, so read at your own risk.
What I #amreading: Lock Nut (The Plumber’s Mate 5) by J.L. Merrow
My favorite lines this week:
✿✿ SUNDAY ✿✿
“Oi, are you saying I’m predictable? That’s halfway to boring, that is.” At least, I was fairly sure that was what he was saying, not having the opportunity right then to look up caprice in a dictionary. Well, ask the internet what it meant, or if the signal was dodgy, Phil. Same difference.
✿✿ MONDAY ✿✿
“Mine was here first.” Okay, I do realize that wasn’t the most mature argument I could have made.
“And it’s your house, your rules?” Phil said it so mildly there was a moment when I actually didn’t realize the big, deep pool of man-eating sharks I was hanging over by a thread that was fraying by the second.
“Course not!” I said—possibly a bit too heartily—once I’d clued in. “It’s our house, now, innit?”
✿✿ TUESDAY ✿✿
Her handshake was more of a squeeze. “Gawd, your mum brought you up proper, didn’t she? Call me Lilah, love. We’re all friends here, ain’t we?” She gave her cowboy boots a good old scrub on the doormat, rather than the dainty shuffle a lot of women do, as if they’d be mortified if any grot actually came off their shoes.
✿✿ WEDNESDAY ✿✿
I looked at him. “You going like that? Designer shirt and all? Don’t you want to dress down?”
Phil shrugged. “They’ll just think it’s vintage or a knockoff.” Then he smirked. “Don’t worry. I’m taking you along to lower the tone.”
“Oi, less of your cheek. These are my good jeans. And I paid five quid for this shirt from Primark.” It was actually more like twenty-five, and it was from M&S, buy hey, never let the truth get in the way of a good punchline.
✿✿ THURSDAY ✿✿ Yes, I mowed today, but I read the allotted 30 minutes during my break between front and back yards.
“Well, it’s good to hear I’ve been rubbing off on you. Innuendo not intended.”
“‘Not intended’ my newly promoted arse. And we’ll have no dodgy comments about that, either.”
✿✿ FRIDAY ✿✿
There was another silence, this one slightly less wince inducing.
But only slightly.
“So, uh, where are we off to now?” I asked with the sort of fake brightness you use with terminally confused old folk and loved ones you’ve just mortally pissed off.
✿✿ SATURDAY ✿✿
Dave’s shudder probably had seismologists miles away wetting themselves in glee.