Sydney makes you fat. My preferred forms of of physical exercise are sailing, surfing and cycling. That limited us to other people’s boats, Manly beach and Sydney roads. We didn’t really pursue the boats option as keenly as we might have done, mostly because I bought a surfboard. Surfing in itself may have been a net energy consumer, but three beers in the Bavarian bar more than offset that. Cycling in Sydney is impossible. The nearest decent trails were seven kilometers away along one of the busiest arterial roads in Australia. With 200m of climbing before you get to the trailhead and another 200m on the way home (yes, it really is uphill both ways), I didn’t do this very often.
That left running. I hate running. It hurts, it’s no fun and I suck at it. I gave it a good go a few times, pootling down the hill to Cremorne Reserve and then slapping my feet down all the way to the point and back. Lovely views, completely masked by rivers of sweat and vision narrowed to a pinhole by exertion. If one goes out early, in the cool of the morning, with the dew still caressing the grass, one is quite likely, limited vision and all, to blunder straight into the previous night’s construction projects, such as this one.
Spider. Enormous.
So. I didn’t do that again. Like I say, Sydney makes you fat.