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From Zero to Hero in 6 weeks
Living the life of Lard? How quickly can
you really make the transition from corpulent Tele Addict to streamlined
Adonis?
Richard Boyd is about to find out.
Thirty three is fast approaching, sadly my
waist exceeded this figure some time ago. I can't remember the last time I
walked further than 50 yards and my breath gets shorter than Ronnie
Corbett just making my way to the microwave. The time is right to make a
new healthy start before my joints finally seize up . No more foil wrapped
cuisine or burgers at dawn and sadly, a heart wrenching decision this, no
more beer! (not for a while anyway) Folds of skin from my lower regions
have moulded themselves to the crevices of my sofa and vice versa.
According to BT my best friend is The Mazala Tandoori and three of my
neighbours have been knocked down whilst trying to avoid the Pizza
delivery bikes hurtling their cargo of authentic, deep baked, cheese
smothered, dough products to my door. I have given my self six weeks to
make an impact on the flab. A six pack in six weeks, a tall order?
Watching the delicate wisps of smoke (from my last cigarette) languidly
trace their way towards my heavily nicotine stained ceiling, I realise
that this is going to be the hardest six weeks of my life.
First things first. Why the six week
deadline? Well I'm going for the short sharp shock approach, a kick start
back to fitness. I need to see results quickly or my motivation will
switch from pumping iron on a Saturday afternoon to pumping fist watching
Baywatch. It could be said that I'm setting myself up for failure,
destined to be reunited with my ever sagging sofa after a brief
demoralising foray into the world of the gymnasium and the Lycra clad
"beautiful people". Motivation is the key word however and I
have plenty. You don't need to know what my motivation is as everyone's
motives for anything are different. Motivation is the key to success or
failure so how to stay motivated? Well I don't know, I have mine, you find
yours. I'm not about to start preaching about motivation to anyone because
I've never had any before. All I do know is that you are going to need
heaps of it, find it from anywhere you can. Get yourself an invite to the
next Rubber Ball and by the skimpiest latex outfit you can. If you succeed
you'll be looking like a rubber clad superhero, if you fail you'll look
like a 70's space hopper. Either way you'll look ridiculous so maybe
that's not a good example. Anyway, to fitness and beyond. Come and join me
on my journey as I purge myself of all bad habits and loafing ways. You
never know I may even manage to get back in the saddle, now that would be
a miracle!
Best Intentions First things first, a visit
to my GP to have a general health check before embarking on my my new
fitness regime. Although this is something that you are always encouraged
to do before starting any new regular strenuous activity, I couldn't help
thinking I was wasting his time. This feeling was enhanced when he rather
curtly informed me that "You can get your blood pressure checked in
the chemist next door." Still, he did he honours anyway and I was
rather pleasantly suprised to find that my blood pressure, pulse etc were
all within the normal range. So on to the gym. First stop "Membership
Enquiries." I was not prepared for the sales spiel I received and the
overly complicated explanation of how much money I was going to save, by
joining today was rather confusing. "Excellent, so by joining now,
you owe me money?" "er..no" The salesman said but I could
tell by the look in his eyes he just wanted to say "just sign up
fatso" A quick tour of the facilities and I made my mark on the
dotted line. Mainly because it's right on my doorstep and at £40 per
month , not excessively expensive (I'll save that by stopping smoking but
I will come to that in a moment) although the lack of a swimming pool is a
minus point.
I stroll back to my flat with a sense that
something good is going to happen and, while still in a positive mood,
decide to give my kitchen a spring clean. Every item of junk food had to
be junked. You have to start with the inside before tackling the outside
and my insides had been luxuriating in the comfort of saturated fats,
preservatives and bright happy artificial colourings for far too long. Had
I been running a takeaway restaurant, I would have been closed down a long
time ago. I found an Indian menu (so old the area dialing code was 01)
which had it's own eco system of moulds and fungus that even Louis Pasteur
would have found difficult to categorise. With the kitchen now a
biologically clean area it's time to restock with food that you can't cook
in it's original packaging. What is it with healthy organic foods, why do
they have to be so , well, so un-packaged? Even my breakfast cereal now
comes in a hessian sack. For someone like me used to buying food in
brightly coloured "fun" packaging this is a demoralising start.
Everything healthy looks so dull and everyone eating it looks so
unhealthy! Something else I hadn't reckoned with was having to actually
cook. If like me you are a culinary halfwit then I suggest you get some
help in the form of a good basic cooking book, nothing fancy yet!
Now I said I would come to this bit and for
me it has been the hardest yet most rewarding part, stopping smoking. If
you don't smoke you won't understand how difficult this is. If you do then
you are probably thinking, "yeah right, I'll quit when I want
to" That's just it, you can't stop unless you really want to. The
trouble with nicotine is that it's more addictive than heroin, ever seen the
film Trainspotting? If you don't really want to stop, you won't so all I
can say is get patches, get hypnotised or chew gum you have to stop. If
you don't you will die sooner than you should and the last few years of
your life could see you breathing through a hole where your voice box used
to be. Every conversation a painfully monosyllabic, transistorised drone.
Let's face it you won't be making any new friends except the guy in the
next bed with emphysema. To cap it all you are paying through the nose to
one day breath through a hole in your neck, nice.
So week one has passed with no beer, no
junk food and no cigarettes. Apart from the mood swings and the violent
sobbing rages at the drop of a hat, I generaly and genuinely feel a whole
lot better. These withdrawal symptoms from nicotine and MSG will soon
pass, I hope, and now I'm ready for the gym. "At last" I hear
you cry.
Secret Ceremonies Filled with apprehension
I turn up for my induction. I signed myself up for a "3 2 1"
plan specially designed to gradually introduce you to all he high tech
machines of torture, sorry, "Lifestyle Equipment." It's aim is
to stop you from giving up on day one, as if I would... Half way through
my fitness test and I'm longing for the comfort and safety of my sofa. I
didn't think a few press ups (and I could only manage a few) would be so painful.
I was given a minute to do as many as I could. Fifty seconds of which was
spent with my nose firmly planted to the floor, rivulets of sweat traced
their way across my forehead to form little pools uncomfortably close to
my nostrils. My pudgy, lifeless limbs vainly tried to defeat gravity while
all around me the initiated lifted, pushed and pulled at all manner of
Lifestyle Equipment with superhuman ease, how embarrassing. Now to
abdominal crunches, sit ups in non geek fitness speak. Now the back of my
head has it's turn to become familiar with the exercise mat for the best
part of sixty seconds. At the end of all these simple yet extremely
difficult and painful tests I'm handed a demoralising report on the state
of my health. Had this been an MOT I would be seriously considering buying
a new car. "Well" the spotty youth of an instructor offered
"you have lots of potential" Whether he was being sarcastic or
this was a genuine attempt at making me feel better I will never know. I
left feeling fat, useless and exhausted. Somehow the "3 2 1"
plan hadn't quite lived up to it's promise of gently easing me into the
new regime. I certainly wasn't looking forward to the five weeks of hard
slog that lay ahead.
The workout plan drawn up was split into 3
sections, day one to day three. The idea being that I visit this bunker of
the sweaty crotch three times a week. I of course ignore this and do the
whole programme in one go and sign in everyday for the first week. This is
not recommended, I burnt out and the second week was spent nursing aching
arms, legs, back and just about every other part of my body. You need to
give your muscles time to repair themselves after each work out. I had
felt ok until I stopped. I can only compare it to having hair of the dog
and feeling fine after a night a heavy drinking, but sooner or later you
have to face the hangover and boy did it hurt. This has put the six week
schedule to acquire my Adonis like physique in dire jeopardy. Learn from
my mistake, take it easy at first!
After this set back I settle into the
regime, visiting the beautiful people only three times a week. To be
honest the 'beautiful people' are actually just normal people, some larger
than me and only a few are clad in Lycra. I walk past new recruits with a
smug grin on my face knowing what they are going through and hope that I
look like an old hand at this. I even decide to purchase a 'FitBall' a
device designed to make situps easier on your back, shame they don't make
something that makes them easy on your front! The abdominal area is not coming
along as I hoped it would so I have resorted to doing a little exercise at
home.
Week six has arrived very quickly. To be
honest my enthusiasm has waned a little and I'm averaging 2.5 visits a
week. I decide to do something about this and checkout one of the many
fitness classes which are free to members making the monthly fee really
quite good value. I scan down the list and decide to steer clear of
"Legs, Bums and Tums" and go for something nice and masculine
sounding "Aerobic Kick Boxercise" I wait in reception with some
ladies obviously waiting for there step class or some such until it dawns
on me that they are all here for the Boxercise. I'm the only man. Just as
I decide to make a run for the safety of the male changing room the
instructor arrives. A tough looking American lady with a voice like Rocky
and pecs to match. I'm swept into the room and stand surrounded by twenty
or so not unattractive ladies. As the music starts pumping and Rocky
starts issuing commands along with the beat "Jab.. 2.. 3.. 4,
Kick..2...3..4" I suddenly realise that my original motivation that
set me on this course of action had changed. Six weeks ago my girlfriend
left me and I was doing all this to win her back, looking around the room
at these bouncing kicking girls I realise that I might just be able to get
a new one instead!
So did I manage to turn my tired flabby
body into one the gods would be proud of? Well, no, not quite but I do
feel healthier and am continuing to visit the gym regularly. Taking
advantage of the different classes on offer relieves the tedium of the
machines and making use of the steam room to help ease any aches and pains
leaves you feeling re-vitalised. I've lost over half a stone have more
energy and have gained a couple of extra notches on my bedpost but that's
a different story!
Richard Boyd is a freelance journalist
writing occasional articles for Addiscombe
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