Part 1: Exercise (slight return)
After some 10 years of diabolically unhealthy living in the form of excess booze, smokes and cheeseburgers I finally received a wakeup call late last week from a life expectancy questionnaire and again from a healthy living quiz.
The life expectancy questionnaire was just supposed to be some harmless fun, sent from a friend by email.
The fun soon dissipated when the results were tallied and I discovered that I apparently only have 5-10 years left to live. Ok, maybe not exactly scientifically binding but still. Bugger.
By eerie coincidence the following day a loved one then proceeded to ask me a series of questions from her diet bible that focus on healthy and optimum living. The results again weren’t ideal with all indicators again pointing to a six-sided box in the not too distant future.
With my mind well and truly in the smoothie blender, I made the conscious decision to try and put some of my former disgraces behind me and straighten up and fly right, in order to try and avoid the pitfalls of high cholesterol, heart disease, diabetes, strokes, organ failure and the pick n’ mix bag of cancers reserved mainly for slobs like me.
In my early twenties I’d tried my hand at boxing, and managed to endure the regular headaches (and sometimes severe poundings) for several years before quitting. With that in mind, it was time to make like Rocky and pull myself out of the void and power my way back into fitness.
I worked out a basic daily exercise plan based on rudimentary boxing circuit training that will last six weeks. I know this is going to be like hell on earth after so many idle years, but what the hell.
Week 1, day 1
Wake up early Monday morning and congratulate myself heartily for only hitting the snooze button twice.
Shower and swallow a breakfast of oatmeal, just to keep the thoughts of cheeseburgers at bay.
Getting ready to warm up, I turn on the TV to look for a music channel for some backing tunes in order to take the edge off the boredom of formal exercise. An advert for cheeseburgers comes on.
Begin warm-up with limbs swaying, rotating, stretching and flexing all over the shop. So far so good.
Over-enthusiastically thrust leg into the air and crack kneecap on the sideboard. Proceed to roll around on the floor in agony like a twat while wishing I’d stayed in bed.
My concerned dachshund potters over to investigate my pathetic state and considers giving me a sympathetic lick. Clearly thinking better of it, she soon wanders off and climbs back into bed. A dog’s life indeed.
Staggering to attention while nursing my battered knee, I knock my glass of water off the sideboard and onto the floor. Dachshund goes ballistic, of course, and flees the scene. Madonna then makes an unlovely appearance on the TV. Things are not going well.
After mopping up the spillage and reassuring dachshund that the world hasn’t come to an end, I decide that that’s quite enough warming up for one day.
They say that having a strong mental approach to exercise is vital – well, today the mind and flesh are equally weak, perhaps even broken. Bugger this for a game of soldiers (or any other game, for that matter).
Round off dismal reintroduction to exercise with a 20 minute jog before collapsing into shower with a mind to purchase a medical shower seat for my now quivering legs.
A less than righteous start to six weeks of training but no pain no gain, right? After tripping up the first step I’ve only got 41 left to go in my six weeks of misery. If I get through the first week without crippling myself further I’ll be sure to provide an update. It can only get better from here.
With more tension than your mother’s suspension, I am Frisco Rosso. I’m likely to deliver a few lines worth at any given moment regarding film, music, sport, books and anything morally unsound that strikes a blow between the eyes in the name of entertainment.