- 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 114: January 27, 2019 – February 02, 2019
|Sunday||30 min/mile||30:17 min:sec||1 mile|
|Monday||30 min/mile||30:09 min:sec||1 mile|
|Tuesday||30 min/mile||30:26 min:sec||1 mile|
|Wednesday||30 min/mile||34:31 min:sec||1.1 miles|
|Thursday||30 min/mile||33:49 min:sec||1 mile|
|Friday||30 min/mile||32:41 min:sec||1 mile|
|Saturday||30 min/mile||30:07 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.
The covers shown below match the covers of the books I purchased years ago and are what I’m (re-)reading and snipping from. I don’t know whether or not the quotes would be different in the latest editions.
Kicked out by his father at age sixteen, English student Luke Corbin’s used to trading on his looks and charm to keep a roof over his head until he can make it big as a journalist. He goes for men with money, power and looks, in that order, and he doesn’t let emotions get in the way. But when his lover tells him it’s over, Luke finds himself homeless—just as his final exams are looming.
Finding love can be a bumpy ride.
With his job and his marriage dead in a ditch, Tim Knight doesn’t take much persuading to leave London for the greener fields of Southampton and look after his injured brother’s mountain bike shop. But Tim’s a fish out of water in this brave new world of outdoor sports and technical jargon—not to mention struggling with the realisation he can no longer deny his sexuality, at least to himself.
My favorite lines this week…
✿✿ SUNDAY ✿✿ (Pricks and Pragmatism)
I could see Russell’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. “Tom said…he said you didn’t have any money.” He frowned. “But you don’t need to…you know.” He stopped, looking like he’d rather be at the salon getting a back, sack and crack.
✿✿ MONDAY ✿✿ (Pricks and Pragmatism)
My exams finished on the Thursday and okay, I’ll admit it, I was completely rat-arsed when I got back to the flat that night. Not so much three sheets to the wind as a whole bloody duvet set and pillowcase. To give you an idea how drunk I was, I doubled over laughing and nearly pissed myself at the thought of Sebastian’s face if he’d heard me mangling sailing metaphors like that.
✿✿ TUESDAY ✿✿ (Pricks and Pragmatism)
The morning of my graduation, Russell was fidgeting around like mad. “Sit down, will you?” I told him, exasperated. “Anyone would think it was you who was going to have to go up on stage dressed up like you’re headed for Hogwarts.”
✿✿ WEDNESDAY ✿✿ (Hard Tail)
When he pushed open the door, I barely had time to mentally punch the air—and then he was gone, well-shaped arse over tit.
✿✿ THURSDAY ✿✿ (Hard Tail)
The cat, which for obvious reasons I decided to name “Wolverine,” yawned at me. Maybe it wanted to remind me about the other sharp, pointy things it had in its possession.
✿✿ FRIDAY ✿✿ (Hard Tail)
Matt was in his default position: bent over an upside-down bike frame, his rear end pointing at me, baggy jeans for once stretched tight over his arse.
It seemed awfully warm in here. I was surprised he hadn’t opened a window. I spoke to him twice before I realised he had his iPod on and couldn’t hear me. I didn’t think prodding him in the bum would be an acceptable way of attracting his attention so, feeling a bit foolish, I moved around the room until I was in his field of view—or at least, my feet were. Finally, he looked up.
✿✿ SATURDAY ✿✿ (Hard Tail)
“Nah, it’s no trouble. We can start tomorrow, if you like.” He smiled. “Or do you want a bite of my wrap first so you know what you’re getting into?”
Why did everything he said have to sound like a double-entendre? At this rate, I’d have to nip to the loo and, ahem, adjust myself. “No, that’s quite all right,” I protested.