Thursday and Friday were no good - I just didn't have the energy by the time I'd got home from work to do anything much at all.

Saturday 9th - lots of stuff around the house and a long shopping trip - I should find my pedometer, actually.

Sunday 10th - again, should've had my pedometer on, we went to the cricket in town, out early back very late, no time for "exercising", but did lots of incidental walking.

Monday 11th - waaay too tired and sore from the weekend to even contemplate anything other than a Couch Day. I have to learn to accept those as fact.

Tuesday 12th - 20 minutes on exercise bike, 5.6km. I was watching the cricket on the TV and didn't notice 15 minutes pass,  so pushed on to 20.  As well as being five minutes longer, it's also slightly further per minute too.

So, some good news, and some not so good.

On the weight front, in the first week I have lost half a kilo. I was hoping for a little more, but anything is better than nothing.

So, the best laid plans of mice and men blah blah. I've been too unwell the last few weeks to even contemplate getting near my armour, or to do much of anything really. I have however bought an exercise bike, and in consultation with the doctor person, have set a stop-gap challenge. I'm supposed to try to get on the damn thing for at least ten minutes a day. Doesn't sound like much, but when walking from the station to the office is a massive effort, it's a good place to begin. And given that I was recently acquainted with the fact that I currently weigh more than Antonio Kaufusi, one of the Storm front-rowers, it's time to play the Good Pain/ Bad Pain game. In a big way. I can't fight at this weight, and I certainly am not going back to England in September at this weight ( which is so scary I'm putting it behind a cut so I don't have to see it )My "target weight" is around 75kg, a much more sensible number than the 63kg that the BMI tells me is my "goal weight". I'm 5 foot 8 for gods sake.

The trip, combined with what I call the Antonio factor (see above), gives me the added inspiration to get things moving. As such, I'm planning to keep a bit of a record here of whether that actually happens. And so...

Sunday 3rd - 15 minutes, 3.8km, broken up into 10 mins and 2.6km, and 5 mins and 1.2km.
Monday 4th- not well. no good.
Tuesday 5th - 10 minutes, 2.75km.
Wednesday 6th - 15 minutes, 4.1km.

So already we see an improvement, even if so very, very minor. I'm using the km travelled as a measure of "speed" if you like. My cheap bike doesn't tell me how many revolutions or anything useful like that, but it does tell me how far I've travelled. I guess it's still a reasonably useful measure of intensity... I can see over the four days already that between Sunday and Wednesday I've managed to go an extra 300m for my 15 mintues. Again, doesn't sound like much, but I can barely walk most days at the moment, so I'm having to celebrate the little stuff.

The next step is to add a little time on the weight machine Michael's bought - but it's not time for that, yet.

Gore Vidal once said 'Whenever a friend succeeds, a little something in me dies'. For me, that couldn't be further from the truth. It is the successes of my friends that drive me.

I am at the same time fortunate and unfortunate  to belong to a household who take their fighting pretty seriously. Fortunate in that from an off-hand conversation over dinner I can learn so much my brain hurts, but also unfortunate in that I am often accused of not taking my fighting as seriously as everyone else. I was once, in a conversation, told to imagine I was one of those people who really wanted to go far with their fighting, wanted to take a belt, to be a Knight, to take their fighting seriously. When I pointed out that in fact, I didn't need to imagine as that was the person I was, the response was a pitying look and the explanation that the speaker meant a 'really serious' person, not me.

Unfortunately, it doesn't matter how serious I am about my fighting, I am, and will most likely always be, limited by this stupid disease and the effect it has on my body. So, the question is, how do I make the most of what I *can* do, without making myself worse?

• Regain control of my weight - when I was dancing, my working weight was between 58 - 62kg. That was waaaay too low.  I would be happy around 70 - 75kg. I have no real idea what my current weight is, but it's significantly more than that. This has occured mostly because of physically not being able to exercise, after a lifetime of being stupidly active. When I'm doing well, my weight drops very quickly as I'm able to exercise properly, but when I'm in a flare it goes back on almost as easily.
  
• Organise bits for and construct my pell. Having just bought a house, this is finally possible. Just a matter of sourcing materials and extracting the digit.
• Redesign armour slightly - exchange heavy, ill-fitting, not made for me chestplate for something lighter and better fitting - perhaps a coat of plates might be good. This would serve the double purpose if made well of not always having to wear a surcoat if  didn't want to.  Also restrap legs to prevent twisting,  probably remake rather than try to fix half gauntlet,. Fighting will be easier if I'm not also fighting my armour.
  
• Try to do something active every day, no matter how crappy I'm feeling. Even if it's walking to the end of the road and back, getting back into the habit of being active everyday is important.
  

It's almost impossible to set any further goals or make any firmer plans until I can get back into armour and see what my limitations are. It is my hope, all things going to plan, to be back in armour by Festival. Unfortunately I am not in the position where I can make 'will' statements, as vee or coly, everything depends on whether I improve or continue to deteriorate.

Ooh, swanky new journal.

Basically, I decided to create this journal as a bit of a learning tool. I'm hoping that by actually committing this stuff to paper, as it were, I may be a little more inclined to follow through.

My current situation sits like this: I authorised in December of 2006. Through a series of misfortunate events, I haven't even put armour on since Festival last year. I cracked my elbow fighting pick ups at Festival, requiring eight weeks out of armour to heal. By the time I was ready to get back into it, Sir Hugh had won Crown, and there was very little time to think of anything else. As the new Crown were coronated this weekend just gone, household thoughts have once again turned to fighting. One small problem on my part. In the meantime, the medical dramas I've been dealing with over the last five years or so have finally been diagnosed as seronegative rheumatoid arthritis. And the stress and drama of the Reign have contributed to bringing on a flare. I'm toast. I can barely walk to the letterbox most days, much less muster the energy to fight, or even drag my armour bag out of the cupboard.

So, for me, the beginning of this journey is working out how to get myself back to a stage where I have enough energy to fight. I have a rehab plan as far as the real world goes, but solving the how to sort the fighting thing is proving to be a little harder.