Toast buttered too thinly

In The Lord of the Rings, Bilbo tells Gandalf, “I feel thin—sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.” The Ring has not worked its ill magic over me, but that’s how I feel. Since my five-minute trip to boot camp on Saturday I have not worked out, except for my 11-km bike to work. And that was funny, too.

About 8:40, I was pedalling my commuter bike up Poplar Plains Road, a road steeply pitched up the old Lake Iroquois shorebluff, popular for hill work-outs by hard-core roadies and triathletes. My bike was heavily loaded: computer, change of clothes, swimming kit, papers for work. Still I usually smoke the other commuters I encounter there. “Good morning!” I call out, “On your left!”

This morning was different. I was passed by a young woman—on a steel city bike—wearing office clothes—and high-heeled shoes! I thought I was biking fairly hard; but I guess not.

So there’s a lack of energy, of oomph. In the past I would just take the time off till the virus passed—and that’s what I have, a virus. Pretty clear.

But “Coach Bogie” has a different view. He says, do it. If you can’t do the whole work-out, do part. He wasn’t condemnatory; just very eastern European!