between the rock and the cold, cold sea

Incantation of the First Order by Rita Dove

Listen, no one signed up for this lullaby.
No bleeped sheep or rosebuds or twitching stars
will diminish the fear or save you from waking

into the same day you dreamed of leaving—
mockingbird on back order, morning bells
stuck on snooze—so you might as well

get up and at it, pestilence be damned.
Peril and risk having become relative,
I’ll try to couch this in positive terms:

Never! is the word of last resorts,
Always! the fanatic’s rallying cry.
To those inclined toward kindness, I say

Come out of your houses drumming. All others,
beware: I have discarded my smile but not my teeth.

So my exercise lately is going for a swim. (I swam to the shore and back in that image, not exactly endurance swimming but I'm building up.) Sometimes a bike ride and a swim. The sea surface temperature is up to a balmy 15C - well up from the 9C of back in late April, even if it's not exactly a Mediterranean sort of blissful, stay-in-all-day temperature.

What else is new with me? My beloved wife has offered to celebrate with a nice meal if I reach 50K words on my novel-in-progress - if I stop shying away from it, acting like what I write could never have value. (She didn't say that, exactly. But she's right, I should try to have more self-belief.)

Here is a poem I was reading:

The Blue-Green Stream

by Wang Wei
Translated by Florence Ayscough and Amy Lowell

Every time I have started for the Yellow Flower River,
I have gone down the Blue-Green Stream,
Following the hills, making ten thousand turnings,
We go along rapidly, but advance scarcely one hundred li.
We are in the midst of a noise of water,
Of the confused and mingled sounds of water broken by stones,
And in the deep darkness of pine trees.
Rocked, rocked,
Moving on and on,
We float past water-chestnuts
Into a still clearness reflecting reeds and rushes.
My heart is clean and white as silk; it has already achieved Peace;
It is smooth as the placid river.
I love to stay here, curled up on the rocks,
Dropping my fish-line forever.

Over the last few days, we've been rearranging the house. My books have moved downstairs into the newly-floored-in-laminate-wood room, to be a combination office/spare room, while the previous shared office is... being less shared. Stacked on top of the bookshelves are my unread books, a mountain that does not encompass the set of shelves by my bedside at night.

The dis-arranging of things (in order to rearrange them) is deeply unsettling to my ability to focus. I have succeeded in getting nothing else done.

But here is a poem I was reading:

Interrogation of an Alternate Timeline

Hazem Fahmy

On a dusty rooftop in Giza, I tell Imam,
in another life, he and Hugh would have been
the best of friends. I picture Hugh, taking him
by the arm down the corniche
or the Cape, the cool night air refusing
silence. I hear their strings and tubes cutting through
beaming crowds in Imbaba and Soweto. Miriam
is serenading an open sea, clicking to the wind
by El Montaza. I see Biko
and Negm, side by side, in a crowded auditorium,
a whole generation huddled
around their voices. This is to say, in another
life revolution would be but
abstract. Biko would be a doctor,
perhaps in Durban. There would be no trains
for Hugh to sing of, save for those
that would bring him back to his loved
ones, safely. Negm would only be known
for love poems. What more
could one ask for? Let us not cheer
for those who would rather die
as soldiers when there is no
war. My whole life I have envied
the kind of thirst for music
that can be quenched by
Elvis and Sinatra. I have prayed
nightly for those I have idolized
to find a good night’s sleep
before deadly fame. What good is poetry
if it kills the poet? In another life, what must be said
here is but fairytale, ghost stories
for the rowdy children. Kanafani would live
in Acre, Baldwin would die
in Harlem, neither knowing the taste
of exile. I would write of bees
and clocks. I would not need men’s solemn
crooning to put me
to sleep. I would not mourn
the dead.

A long time.

Honestly, guys, I don't even know what this year is LIKE.

Benchpress, dumbbells, 4x10 at 17.5kg/arm
Lat raise, 3x10 at 7.5kg/arm
Scap raise, 3x10 at 5kg/arm

Exercise bike: 10.9km in 30:00.
Rowing: 5km in 29:30

Weigh-in: 110kg

Dumbbell benchpress: 17.5kg/arm, 4x8
Squats: 90kg, 5x5
Hip thrust: 30kg, 3x5
Bent-over row: 40kg, 3x8
Deadlift: 50kg, 3x8
Lat raise: 7.5kg/arm, 3x10
Overhead press: 20kg, 3x5
Bicep curl: 5kg/arm, 3x10


Exercise bike: 5km in 13:30.

Weigh-in: 109kg

Benchpress: 6x5 at 55kg
Squats: 5x5 at 95kg
Overhead press: 4x5 at 20kg
Bent-over row: 5x5 at 40kg
Deadlift: 3x8 at 50kg
Lat raise: 3x12 at 6kg/arm
Lat pull-down: 2x5 at 30kg
Bicep curl: 5x5 at 15kg

Cycling: 5.56kg in 15:00

Weigh-in: 109kg approx.

Benchpress: 1x5 at 50kg. 5x5 at 55kg.
Squats: 5x5 at 90kg
Bent-over row: 5x5 at 35kg
Deadlift: 3x8 at 45kg
Overhead press: 3x10 at 10kg
Lat raise: 3x10 at 7.5kg/arm
Bicep curl: 3x5 at 5kg/arm


No cycling. I have to come back to the gym tomorrow for a physio appointment, so I'll do cardio then.

It's been a couple of months since I made it to the gym, between house-moves and holiday season. I had some anxiety over going back, and anxiety too about the state of my physical body.

But I feel a lot better for having gone.

Weigh-in: 108kg
Benchpress: 5x5 at 55kg
Squats: 5x5 at 80kg
Deadlift: 3x8 at 40kg
Bent-over row: 3x5 at 20kg
Lat raise: 3x10 at 7kg/arm
Bicep curl: 3x5 at 5kg/arm
Cycling: 7.72km in 20:00

I also booked myself a set of six fencing lessons starting next Friday. Because I need structure, dammit.

Benchpress: 2x5 at 60kg, 3x5 at 65kg, 1x5 at 60kg
Squats: 5x5 at 95kg
Bent-over row: 5x5 at 30kg
Deadlift: 3x8 at 45kg
Overhead press: 1x8 at 20kg, 2x7 at 20kg
Lat raise: 3x10 at 7.5kg/arm

Cycling: 2km in 05:35.

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I remembered that I went to the gym on Monday but I can't remember anything else about that day. Apparently stress really does interfere with short-term memory.