By Frisco Rosso
Clunk! That’s the sound of me landing on my face, after falling off the Exercise or Die(t) wagon after five weeks. It’s not a pretty sound or contented feeling, but what’s done is done. To think, I was so close to the point of inward self righteousness, but hey ho.
Things were going relatively well up until last weekend. The exercise routine was coming along swimmingly with pushups aplenty, satisfactory sit-ups and semi-joyous jogging along, with a strengthening approach to healthy eating. Go me!
So, with all that completely out of mind, I decided to invite a couple of friends round for dinner and some chill-out time. Mistake number one was probably my decision to make a beer-beef pie instead of serving something like artichoke and ripe olive tuna salad. I suspect that if I had dished up the healthy option, said guests would have made their excuses shortly afterwards, and also made a point of dodging mealtimes at my place thereafter.
Mistake number two was the drinking – not enough to induce a coma or put me in the mood for dancing a la The Nolans, but certainly enough to drown my physical efforts of the previous two weeks and make me feel sluggish as hell the next morning. But never mind, three days off isn’t such a bad thing – simply start again tomorrow.
Tomorrow arrived, and with it came a scratchy throat, puffed up gills and a runny nose. Enter the cold. Bloody marvelous. Now, I hate colds and general sickness with a passion, not because it stops me from going to work or anything like that but because mild debilitation in the form of head clog is just damn irritating, and everyone makes the obvious point of keeping their distance. Also, it means no more exercise until I’m back on the mend.
I read somewhere that extended periods of exercise when suffering from a cold or flu can result in severe illness, and in some cases can be fatal. This would be counterproductive considering coffin dodging is my primary objective. So, much like saying “Candyman” into the mirror five times, I figure I’m better off not risking it.
This week’s gone for a ball of crumpets anyway following the weekend pie massacre so I’ve decided I’ll call it quits until next week, by which time I should be less clogged up and liquidy. Eye of the tiger? Not this time.
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.