Kilo Conversion Conundrum

A miraculous healing of the tummy occured overnight, and I dressed for the gym this morning after doing my domestic goddess rites.

It was quite breezy and about 50 degrees F as I made my way to the gym at Lord's Cricket Ground. The curly brown chestnut leaves that have already fallen swirled around in the gusts of wind. The rest of the trees are still in full leaf, and most gardens are still blooming behind the high brick walls, with neat displays of impatience, fuschia, anemones, passionflower vines, and geranium competing with each other in a restrained, tidy, well-pruned way. Walking the "back way" down Circus Road presents a quieter, more residential feel than the Grove End Road way. Plus, it plants me right at the top of Sir You-Know-Who's street, which really IS on the way to the North Gate of Lords Cricket Ground. I keep remembering the dream I had a few months before we came over of hovering around the top of Sir YKW's kitchen on Cavendish Ave., watching his daughters cook.

Once at the gym, I filled out all the requisite paperwork for membership and hit the machines. A quick warm-up on the cross-trainer was followed by a series of crunches (woefully inadequate due to disuse) I will have to work back up to banging out 160 crunches again.

The weight/resistance machines are all lined up in a row, so I just started with the first one and worked my way down. I hadn't really been to the gym except once since March, when we heard about Hubster's job loss and my dad's stroke. Then all summer, I was busy cleaning, packing and repairing the house. It felt good to be kickin' A again. As I moved from machine to machine, I would pop the weight-selection pin into the numbered hole that I remembered from my SuperFitness days. Doing 12 reps times 3 with rests in between felt really good, if not just a little challenging.

Finally I got to a machine that I could not remember how to use. I had to get the trainer to come over and demonstrate the correct set-up. "How many kilos do you want?" he asked. Kilos? KILOS? I thought they were pounds, not kilos! So the leg press where I pounded out what I thought was 100 pounds was really 100 kilos, or rougly 220 pounds. I had more than doubled my muscle output on ALL of the machines. I fear that I will pay for this tomorrow. I guess I have forfeited the right to tease a certain doctor about being the Marquis of Kilo Mismeasurement. I shall annoint myself the Queen of Conversion Mismanagement.

I finished up with a cardio workout. My new favorite way to do this is the Concept2 rowing machine. You can set the digital display for however many meters you want (e.g. 2000), and it will keep track of your time, distance, and rate. You can also set it to display a little "pace boat" which will keep you motivated and allow you to save something for the final 150 meters. I asked the trainer to come over and beat the Roman slavedriver's drum to keep me moving for the last 500. Unfortunately, we started chatting, which has the effect of slowing one down. I requested that he put on some Led Zeppelin and "turn it up to eleven", but the TV was showing UK's version of survivor instead, with hungry, scantily-clad Brits whining about each other and the weather (what else is new?) I was able to shave 4.4 seconds off my previous attempt at 2,000 meters, and look forward to posting my continuing results on the Concept2 website. I now officially issue a challenge to any blog readers with access to a Concept2 machine to a row-off.

I am now fit and ready to tackle the mean streets of NW8!