They

They (I’d like to meet ‘they’ someday, have a few choice words for those vacillating piss-takers), have decided that it’s no longer 10,000 steps a day that will help extend the ‘health span’ (no point extending your lifespan if you can’t get up off the toilet).  Magic number is now 8,000 steps, briefly lifting heavy things three times a week and prioritising sleep.  Am an expert at one of those so far.  Resistance training is the new black.

Obviously, not wanting to die sitting on a toilet, like Elvis (allegedly), this month I will start to build up to the magical 8,000 steps.  Had been going for some pleasant paddles at simmer dim – a step is a step afterall, but that’s not sufficient for blue zone living.  Had to lie down in a darkened room with my feet up for 20 minutes afterwards and slept in until 9.45, but fully accept, sleep is paramount. 

What I object to is the pass-remarkable attitude of iPhone7, after me not relegating it to the glory drawer as well.  It’s bad form to insist on telling me I am averaging three-and-a-half thousand steps more this week than I managed last week.  Bloody insolence off of machinery.

Also, from ‘they’, intermittent fasting should be no longer than 12 hours, never 16 or you will shorten your lifespan.  Which means you can have a cheese toastie at 8pm afterall. Sunshine is good for us again, especially 10 minutes daylight in the morning sans specs.  Where Loki might leave you a dead sparrow to remind you, there’s no getting away from THE OMEGA, you may as well just do what your nana did; a couple of strolls a day, a little of what you fancy and ignore any and all advice to the contrary.

I hate they.