Mother knows best

I took up jogging because I didn’t think waking up at the crack of dawn was sad enough. I felt inadequate being just one of a selected few, who voluntarily go to the gym every weekday before the birds start chirping.  I simply wanted more.  Running in the afternoon completed the look I was going for: Desperate and pathetic.

The truth is, I entered a race.  This implied training was necessary.  No, I didn’t lose a bet. And no, it wasn’t a dare. Why then? Because I am a raving lunatic.  Who else would choose to run for 10 km non-stop in the middle of nowhere?

One thing you must know about me is that I never do anything half-arsed.  I will endevour to finish everything I start with so much energy and vigor, that my sweat and determination would be considered a prohibited substance at the Olympic Games. (I don’t bottle my determination but my sweat is for sale on Bid or Buy.)

Since I’ve taken up running, I’ve become aware of a whole new brand of aches and pains. It happens when you start using muscles you never knew existed.  Especially the small ones supporting your joints.  Normal people would take notice the moment when their bodies start screaming agony! as a warning that they’re hurting.  I’m not normal. I’m committed to the point of being obsessive.   It makes me a very understanding person.  Just ask my kids.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I win anything, I’m not great.  I just like to commit 158% to everything I do.  It used to be 200% but I’m starting to subtract my age from my expectation.  During said race I injured my ankle.  I still managed to finish though.  Some people call it mind-over-matter, I call it old-age-and-stubbornness.  The slight injury turned into “it’s a little sensitive” a day after I completed the race.

The following week I was preparing for the next race.  I think there must be some indirect relationship between fitness and common sense. During one of these sessions, where I became even more stupid, the “it’s a little sensitive” turned into mild discomfort.  I still didn’t quit.  I’m a man.  And by now, a big idiot.  When the mild discomfort turned into me not being able to walk, I thought it a good idea to take a break.

I actually enjoy running.  I was sulking for having to sit out for three weeks.  I finally decided I’ve had enough.  F*ck the ankle.  The Wife suggested I take another week off, just to be sure as she self-diagnosed me with a sprained ligament.  I ignored her advise and had a great time on the road. I ran like the wind.  Or at least, a very strong fart.

All went well, until I stopped.  My little discomfort was back.  With a vengeance.

An hour later it felt like someone was stabbing my foot with a flaming, hot rod.  Two hours passed and I found myself alone in the bathroom.  I think I cried. Pain makes one very delirious.  I was trying to hide the fact that I destroyed something beneath my knee.  Seven hours later I still couldn’t get down the flight of stairs and the Wife was starting to look for me. I knew my game was up.  It was time for confession.

The doctor and x-ray guy diagnosed the source of my agonizing pain as a serious inflamed tendon, causing extreme pressure on the nerve, causing me to consider amputation as a wonderful solution.  And the cure?  An injection with a needle that would make a horse shit his pants and no running for another two weeks.  As per Wife’s suggestion.

Wife never uttered the dreaded words: “I told you so.”  But with females words are unnecessary.  It’s all captured in a look. And the look on her face said: “Mother knows best.”

PS – I haven’t taken up jogging again.  It’s been two months.  And now Winter is coming at a speed The Flash would never reach.  I still manage to drag my body out of bed every morning and that makes me miserable enough for the time being.  

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Hey Captain Douche, excuse me, I’m flexing here.

With all the baffoons roaming the Serengeti of a gym, I’m surprised I’m still grazing there at all…

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In my time on this blog I’ve had moments of ranting about naked guys and nipple showings.  It wouldn’t surprise me if some of the wonderful readers of this blog are starting to think that I’m training at some R-rated fitness facility, as some of the instructors also shadow as ladies of the night… Continue reading

Not my bravest moment

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http://www.planetnatural.com not only has bug-porn but also provide advise on how to get rid of them

I like waking up early as much as I love cockroaches.  When that alarm goes off, I curse my life.  And then I get up because I remember that I don’t have one.  A  life, that is.  No-one forced me to move from fat to fit.  And then try and remain there because fat is a bastard, always lurking around, hiding in a bottle of wine or a box of pizza.

I work my way through all seven dwarfs from the time that my eyes open until the moment I can close them again.  Grumpy is up first and once he leaves, they follow one after the other, until I usually get stuck with Happy. Or Funny, who’s the illegitimate child of Snow White and Shrek. Sometimes I end up with Bashful… Continue reading

An open letter to Naked Guy

Dear Naked Guy (and your friend)

It’s a new year and I need to applaud you for making some kind of commitment to a healthy lifestyle. For having a resolution to reduce the circumference of your wildly expanding gut.  For getting off the couch at the crack of dawn, to run/lift/step/climb/spin.  Good for you.

Being new to the whole fitness culture, I understand that you might be unaware of the generally accepted cardinal rules of gym behavior.  There are the obvious ones like (1) Don’t grunt, (2) Don’t take selfies in front of the mirror, (3) Don’t perve at ladies squatting, (4) Wipe the bench and (5) Put the f*cking weights back on the rack.  But this letter relates to the more specific things you should avoid doing in the semi-private space of the change room. Continue reading

I became a Warrior by running Commando

When you hear the word “jogger” most of us have an image of a sweaty guy in a vest running on a road somewhere.  Some of us are even able to conjure a whole video sequence of a fresh-faced, luscious girl who’s running through a park with a light breeze ruffling her blond hair, dressed in yoga pants and a crop-top that’s barely containing the bouncing twins.  And those of you who didn’t see that initially, do know.

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Laugh with me #17

“A human flag is an elite bodyweight hold in which the body is statically held by the arms on a vertical object, suspended from the ground like a flag.” Quote from http://www.fitstream.com

In order to be pull off this maneuver, a person would require (1) Amazing upper body strength and (2) A core that you can crack walnuts with.  It’s a sophisticated hold that also requires (3) A brain larger than a pea because one would have to find (4) A pole or anchor point that should be stable or secure enough to hold your weight.

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Because without any of the above, failure is imminent.  And the whole Internet is going to laugh at you.