You’ll be pleased to know I’ve started going to the gym again. Not for the first time have I started again. It’s been a fairly regular occurrence over the last 20 years or so but I keep falling off the treadmill wagon. And if this sounds like an alcoholics anonymous meeting or a confession, it sort of is. My name is Chris and I confess that I have been going to the gym for two weeks and two days – round of applause.
Actually its only 10 times over that 16 day period plus one bonus round of golf but I have to admit to noticing the difference already. I’ve lost a few pounds, mostly from round the middle so when I run (slowly and not very far) the shuddering mass round my middle isn’t causing a crippling backache and the shin soreness that feels like red hot needles are being poked into my legs is easing.
The best part about gyming is that I can listen to my music. This is one of two things I use my phone for. If you can’t think of the other one you’re too far gone. And I’m not into muscly thumbs.
Of secondary importance but nevertheless significant is that I don’t believe I have to change anything about my lifestyle. Superimposing a gym regime over my red wine and beer soaked diet can only be a good thing right? Why take a double hit when one hit should be sufficient for a net positive result.
The worst part about going to the gym other than the physical pain, is knowing that I used to be a reasonably good athlete to the extent that I won a couple of cross-countries at school and played a variety of sports to a reasonable level of proficiency so why can I only bench a pathetic amount of weight and why am I completely knackered after running for about four minutes. The four minute mark is about when I start feeling like those runners who lose control of their legs at the end of a marathon. To be fair though I can walk for hours but a stop-start stroll with the dog doesn’t really count.
I’m reminded of the last game of rugby I played when I was about 40 years old. I was playing for a team of past students against the second XV at my old high school. This was the perfect opportunity to show off to all the adoring chicky babes on the sideline. Well, showing off to the child bride who was actually too busy checking health insurance policies to care. Despite the fact I was only up against a mob of pimply high school students this was the occasion I knew my athletic career was well and truly over and here’s why.
The brain retains its sharpness much longer than the rest of the body but knowing what to do, wanting to do it and actually doing something of athletic prowess, taken together are somewhat problematic. In this case I could see the defender one out from my position was advancing too fast so I figured if I could move my defender a little to the right I could slip past him and behind the outside defender, get into the clear and streak away for a glorious match-winning try.
So the ball’s coming my way. Pass it now, pass it now, the brain’s saying. I get the ball and the brain says step off the left foot and pivot on the right. My defender reacts and moves to my right. The brain sees the outside defender on the left come up too fast as predicted so now’s the time to explode through the gap I’ve created and away we go. EEEEEhaaa. But then the legs say, not so fast brain, we’re not going anywhere that involves more than a leisurely trot. End result – face first in the dirt without a defender laying a hand on me.
When the brain and the legs are in such dogmatic conflict the only compromise is sort of what I’m doing at the gym now.