New beginnings ...New Horizons...the Training Plan
So in my new 'galvanised' state, I hauled my notebook out and devised a training plan. To put things in perspective, a jog from my front door to my car would be termed a 'hard' workout in my current shape. So a training plan could very well include things like 'Hard' day is "Take a walk PAST the fridge on four occasions without sampling the contents". An 'Easy' day would be 'Use manual wine bottle opener to remove cork from wine bottle instead of electric opener'. I am, to put it kindly, in bad shape.
Saturday dawned an absolute pearler here in Cape Town. I could actually appreciate this as I exited my home wearing takkies (sneakers / cross trainers) and T-shirt and shorts. The plan was to take a leisurely 7.5 km jog. As I set off the thought did cross my mind that getting up early and out of the house was not exactly unpleasant.
The first up gradient I met was 50 metres from the front gate, and I tackled it manfully. Huffing n puffing I strode on at a magnificent pace which I maintained relentlessly. The first indication I had that my progress was not as swift as I believed, was when a woman pushing a perambulator passed me, a child on her hip, another in the pram waving a golden brown teddy bear to all and sundry. At first I admired the elegant manner in which her hips sashayed from side to side nothwithstanding the burden on one of them, then a smile of appreciation crossed my lips at the shapeliness of her lightly tanned gastrocnemius muscles. As the gap between us widened it dawned on me that the lass was walking rather fast....... then two young lads dressed in boy scout outfits walked by me, one on either side, laughing loudly at some shared joke. As they rapidly moved off and the sound of their chatter faded away I became aware of a rhythmic 'pshht pshht' sound. It was the sound of my shoes shuffling along beneath my not insignificant girth. My magnificent stride was no longer. My progress was negligible and my goal was rapidly being re-evaluated. Staggering to a stop, I bent forward and placed my hands on my knees and gracefully jettisoned my morning coffee, some twisted part of my mind trying to read shapes in the splash as one would read clouds.
It was a long walk home, probably the longest 600 metres of my life. My youth seems to have left for good, and the only memory I have of it is the damage to my old body left by the abuse handed out by my younger self. Clearly I needed another plan.