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The most rowing I've done all year...
Dec. 25th, 2011 09:42 pmToday, I've done three five-minute sessions of moderate rowing (22-24 strokes per minute) on the machine that been sitting in the corner of my office. That's something of an achievement for me, because rowing—on a machine, no less—is one of those activities like jogging around a track and swimming laps in a pool that turn my brain to mush in short order with their lack of mental stimulation.
Today, I spent one of the sessions reciting The Shooting of Dan McGrew up until my five-minute buzzer went off (I did not get all the way through the tale). I spent another session talking to Shiloh, who sat on the couch in my office, watching me row, which was activity that, she understood in short order, was clearly not going to result in her getting any treats. With that bit of intelligence gained, Shiloh put her head back down on her forepaws, keeping me within her field of view, on the off chance that a treat might appear, and pretended to pay attention to what I was saying.
It was a stay-at-home kind of day. We made another leg of lamb, with Brussels sprouts as a side dish. When I reached into the fridge for the bottle of spumanti we had bought for dinner, I joked about how we'd have to empty the whole thing—a rather large-ish bottle of about 50 ounces—since it's generally impossible to stuff the stopper back into the neck of bubbly wine.
The joke turned out to be on me, as the blessed bottle had a screw cap.
Mm-mm! Nothing like good wine to go with leg of lamb (and believe me, this was nothing like good wine).
Still, it was a nice dinner.
Cheers...
Today, I spent one of the sessions reciting The Shooting of Dan McGrew up until my five-minute buzzer went off (I did not get all the way through the tale). I spent another session talking to Shiloh, who sat on the couch in my office, watching me row, which was activity that, she understood in short order, was clearly not going to result in her getting any treats. With that bit of intelligence gained, Shiloh put her head back down on her forepaws, keeping me within her field of view, on the off chance that a treat might appear, and pretended to pay attention to what I was saying.
It was a stay-at-home kind of day. We made another leg of lamb, with Brussels sprouts as a side dish. When I reached into the fridge for the bottle of spumanti we had bought for dinner, I joked about how we'd have to empty the whole thing—a rather large-ish bottle of about 50 ounces—since it's generally impossible to stuff the stopper back into the neck of bubbly wine.
The joke turned out to be on me, as the blessed bottle had a screw cap.
Mm-mm! Nothing like good wine to go with leg of lamb (and believe me, this was nothing like good wine).
Still, it was a nice dinner.
Cheers...
