I got older without noticing it

Age is a number, they say.  Age is a mental concept, they say.  You’re only as old as you feel, they say.  Well “they” can go and f…ondle themselves on a highway.  “They” are walking around with their head up their ass because growing old is inevitable but ridiculously hard to get used to.  I’ve gained a newfound understanding for how age can creep up on you and then jump and throttle you like a facehugger.

We spend our annual holiday camping at a family resort, which is basically paying a lot of money to live like a homeless person.  I used to be very anxious and actively involved in setting up our camp site making sure everything is done in a proper way because camping becomes a lot less fun when the wind blows your tent to the next country.  The resort we stay at has people who are more than happy to set up the site for you, at a fee of course.  Being who I am, I didn’t oblige because I have slaves working for free, my two teenage kids.  But this process of getting them to do what I want them to do, implies an increased high blood pressure for yours truly, due to my  method of giving them instructions.   Wife says it’s just me barking random comments but I disagree.  They don’t listen.  (Maybe they don’t speak canine.) And contrary to what some of you might think, a raised blood pressure and two annoyed teenagers, does not a happy holiday make.   This year I paid the fee, not because my kids didn’t want to help, but because I didn’t want too.  It’s less effort.

In my younger days I would have blasted Britney without any consideration for retaining my own ability to hear, never mind the objections or feelings of those people around me.  Music sounded better when it was loud, until it doesn’t anymore.  The entertainment crew of the resort were playing music at the pool, blasting some atrocious shit at the volume of a missile launch through the speakers.   Wife and I unconsciously migrated to the furthest point in the pool.  We just drifted away from the source of the noise, to find a quieter place where we could have a normal conversation without having to spit in each other’s face from pure exertion to make our voices heard.

And don’t get me started on the utter bull shit they were playing.  I mean who in their right mind listens to this shit?  No wonder millennials are all set up for failure, just look at what the poor sods have on their playlists?  I still believe that every time you hear an eighties song, it makes you a better person.

I normally could make quite a splash when I entered a pool, whether it be diving, bombing, falling in drunk… This time I refrained from any physical activity whatsoever because I had a very tough year.  I resorted to hang around the pool like a hippo on a hot day.  I turned out to be an annoyed hippo because this one little brat kept jumping in the pool, then he got out, then he jumped in, then he got out, then he jumped in, then…well you get the picture.  All happening within two feet of my face.  So instead of running the risk of me screaming at the toddler “For $#@!* sake dickhead, do you mind?” my Wife simply guided me to calmer waters.

I know if given the opportunity, I could be an Olympic athlete, if they make sleeping an Olympic sport.  I do pride myself on being an excellent sleeper, especially lately.  I never used to be very good at it, wasting my effort and time on things like partying until the sun comes up, hanging out with mates, watching movies and/or studying. As I grew older I developed an appreciation for the gift of sleep and even though it’s not official, I’ve started my training just in case they do elect sleeping as an Olympic sport.  I now take naps as often as I can.  Anywhere, anytime.  I’m so focused that I would wake up in the morning and mentally schedule my next nap, before I even get out of bed.

Henry Ford invented a car (or stole the idea) because he got tired of walking from his house to McDonalds.  Hence, we don’t have to do it anymore.  Walking in the South African summer makes me sweat (which is not a good look for me) and besides, it takes much longer than a quick drive.  Every time I walked from our camp site to the pool, I felt my fat cells withering away, crying sweaty tears in agony, as I was killing them slowly.  I’m not a sadist and believe that every living thing has the right to live, their own little place in the sun.  What kind of person would I be if I continue with the genocide of my own fat cells, even if there is an overpopulation of them around my midsection, a direct result of an unexpected escalation of their birth rate, over the festive season?  So I used my car a little more than I normally did. To protect the innocent.

Getting out of bed or a chair or any position for that matter used to be easy.  And without noise.  During this holiday I realised my body is making more noises than it used to. Even if I had to move for a very good reason like getting a beer.  Surprisingly these “noises” were not only created by the joints in my body, or the occasional fart, they also escaped from my mouth.  Grunts and moans and other extra-terrestrial sounds that I’ve never been able to produce before.  It’s like I learned a new language overnight.

Getting older is less fun than most other things in life, even though it’s bound to happen to everyone, irrespective of how many creams you slap on your face everyday.

The best thing would be to embrace the reality and make fun of yourself whilst you still have the mental ability to do so.  And that’s also the reason why I’m back in the gym again because who are you calling old?

I’m only half way there.

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The dark side of a healthy life

Something happen to people who take the plunge into the ocean of healthy living. Besides the fact that most simply  drown and get washed up on the beach of fat and failure, some actually learn to stay afloat. The ones who manage to control some kind of satisfying exercise regime that fits nicely into the niche between a coach potato and marathon runner.  Other freaks turn into really strong ultra swimmers and they end up as poster children for transformation and the power of the human spirit.

For the few of us who stay afloat, it implies we struggle through a daily sacrifice of sleep, in exchange for sweat and perseverance.  Not mentioning stuffing our faces with everything that is far from delicious. Because let’s state the obvious; if it’s worth eating, it’s gonna make you buy a bigger dress size. So we tend to stick with pieces of cardboard infused with green inspired shit salads because we are actually sad human beings desperately seeking attention.   Continue reading

I thought I was giving birth. To dragons.

comics-bc-forchronicheartburn

Heartburn woke up me up in the early hours of yesterday.  Just like the burglars who broke into our house a week before.  (That’s another story)

At first I thought it was my Mother-in-law’s cooking as we had dinner there.  Turned out it wasn’t because my heartburn was so severe there was no way it could be caused by a mortal’s cooking.  It made me think I was able to give birth to fire-breathing reptiles, turning into Phaleesi, the Father of Dragons. Continue reading

Gym will never be the same again.

I’ve been busy.  On all fronts.  And things changed.  Drastically.

This week marks the first time that I was able to persuade Princess to join us in our routine torture sessions before the sun shows his friendly, fat face.  (I’m still moderately intrigued as to why she suddenly agreed to join us but in order to protect my sanity, I’m not going to dwell on that too long.)

Selling the concept of training in the morning was far easier than the execution thereof.  It took a lot of persuasion to finally get her to wake up and get dressed in some kind of sports attire.  Think ‘trying to fit and elephant in a mini cooper’.  Not that I’m insinuating she’s fat because she definitely is not.  She’s not even overweight.  Besides wouldn’t I be an awful parent if I called my daughter an elephant?  Even though she laughs like Heffalump.  I’m getting side-tracked… Continue reading

Gym bingo (or People aliens should probe and/or vaporize first…)

Aliens near a UFO

Aliens near a UFO October 1, 2000 as per http://www.dailymail.co.uk

Yes I’m a member.  Of a gym.   Humans who obviously doesn’t have a life. Some might even say I belong to a weird cult who gets up every morning and worship the gods of fitness by offerings of sweat and fat, generated by too much tofu, kale, tuna, brocolli and all other tasty treats.  A sub-culture chasing an unattainable dream of creating better versions of ourselves, with an elusive six-pack tucked away under layers of desperation and vanity.

Or maybe we just prefer to be able to climb a flight of stairs or walk through an average sized mall without feeling like the oxygen supply to our lungs have been cut off permanently.

The truth is that I need this moderate commitment to fitness if only to prevent me from killing some of my coworkers with a stapler.  Or a computer screen.  Or my frigging SUV.  It’s my therapy. Continue reading

When showing respect becomes disrespectful

There are many different ways in which society shows respect towards the elderly. I’m not referring to hiding dentures or changing the year on their calendar.  Even though it was hilarious.  I’m talking about gestures of respect that are unique to specific cultures.

Down here in Africa, Afrikaans people have been taught to address the elderly with “Oom” (male form) or “Tannie” (female form).  It’s roughly translated into “Uncle” and “Aunt”.  But it’s not only used for drunk relatives you want avoid at a family reunion. It’s also used when addressing a geriatric.

And that’s a very disrespectful, shitty gesture. Continue reading

As long as it comes with a diet soda

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Don’t confuse determination with desperation

The road to fitness is a lonely one.  A jungle where muscles grows scarcely and with great difficulty among the roots of perseverance and determination.  Where waterfalls of fat are draped over cliffs of protein stacks, scattered along the river of sweat.  It’s a narrow, winding path with many obstacles.  It leads you over and under and around dumbbells, barbells, treadmills, water fountains, headphones, playlists, guy nipples, yoga pants, public showers, nakedness and douche bags. It’s a treacherous path, not meant for the fainthearted or the weak. Or normal. Continue reading