craftyailz (craftyailz) wrote,

  • Mood:

First of all let me thank jubal51394  for the icon.  She's made me several and I'll be changing them regularly.  If you like any one in particular please let me know.

I've managed to cycle 15.07 miles today which took 47 minutes and burnt 551 calories.  I like this pedalling better than my elliptical walker as I keep losing my balance on the walker whereas the 'bike' is ridden from the comfort of a chair so I'm not likely to fall off.  I can feel the difference in my legs - apart from the muscles being warm for ages afterwards.  I did wonder why I had a sore stomach on Sunday, the first day I did over 45 minutes cycling and then on Monday I realised that as I raise my knees - I'd been sitting over the machine, and being in a low chair I was kneeing myself in the stomach everytime my leg came up.  Well perhaps it will work a bit like massage and wear it away lol.

I'm not sleeping very well at the moment - I spend long, long hours in bed and have big black rings under my eyes - and it's stopping me from doing much studying.  I'm just not taking it in.  I'm studying Romantic poetry this month and have to dissect a poem by Joanne Baillie, a Glaswegian,  published in 1790 called The Horse and his Rider

Braced in the sinewy vigour of thy breed,

In pride of generous strength, thou stately steed,

Thy broad chest to the battle's front is given,

Thy mane fair floating to the winds of heaven.

Thy champing hoofs the flinty pebbles break;

Graceful the rising of thine arched neck.

White-churning foam thy chafed bits enlock;

And from thy nostril bursts the curling smoke.

Thy kindling eyeballs brave the glaring south,

And dreadful is the thinder of thy mouth;

Whilst low to earth thy curving haunches bend,

Thy sweepy tail involved in clounds of sand;

Erect in air thou wear'st thy front of pride,

And ring'st the plated harness on thy side.

But lo!  what creature, godly to the sight,

Dares thus bestride thee, chafing in thy might,

Of portly stature and determined mien,

Whose dark eye dwells beneath a brow serene,

And forward look unmoved to fields of death,

And, smiling, gently strokes thee in thy wrath,

Whose brandished falcion dreaded gleams afar?

It is a British soldier, armed for war!


(arched & chafed both have accents over the e)

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