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. Continue reading
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
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
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
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
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
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