Getting Fit
Mar 5th, 2009 | By Bock | Category: My life, health, namaI went for a run this evening.
It didn’t kill me.
The Wild Man from Conamara told me it wouldn’t, and he should know, because he’s the laziest motherfucker I ever knew, a man who was quite happy to lie around all day blowing spliffs and drinking home-made liquor while growing an enormous fuck-off belly.
Not any more. The WMFC astounded me last week when he turned up at my door, first by having no sign of a big fat belly, and second by telling me that he runs every day.
And so I thought: if that lazy bastard can do it, so can I.
It took a while. You might remember me telling you last year about all the cardiac tests I had carried out, that all came to nothing when the doctor told me to fuck off home there was nothing wrong with me. But now that I think of it, I never did get around to telling you about the cocksucking angiogram, which was – paradoxically — no fun, but very interesting, simultaneously and at the same time, in the one moment and together.
I’ll tell you about that another time, and soon, before the horror fully evaporates from my scarred brain, but it won’t be this night. This night is not for tales of scalpels biting into arteries, nor for doctors too cheerful for decency as you lie there in an embarrassing hospital dressing-gown, splayed like a medical Jesus on a horizontal, privately-insured, high-tech cross, with a wire in your heart taking pictures.
Not good. Not good at all, but interesting nonetheless, and be in no doubt about this: I will inflict the full horror on you, sooner rather than later, but not on this night.
It took a while.
It took a very long while as I found reasons for myself, and excuses not to do it.
There was a time, many years ago, when I used to live on the edge of a broad-leaf forest, and I had a little daughter, and I worked in a profession with an edge of danger to it at times. In those days, I used to strap my child in a baby-carrying-thing on my chest and run through the forest, like a complete fucking dick, because I could have tripped and killed the two of us, as I checked my manly profile in the conveniently-placed mirrors and screens that grew so abundantly in the forest. It wasn’t a rain forest now, you understand, though it was occasionally a tropical beer-forest.
But I was fit. Fitter than you.
And then I let myself go, and became a lazy, smoking fool.
And then I stopped smoking, but started eating like a fanged Food-God. A fat fanged Food-God.
No more!
This time is for real. This time there will be no messing and no missing. Now that my test-flight is done, I know I won’t die of a heart attack, though of course I knew that already, since the cardiologist told me a year ago there was fuck-all wrong with my heart and I could exercise like a slave salt-miner if I wanted to.
I didn’t want to. Who the fuck would? But look, this waistline has gone beyond a joke, and it simply doesn’t accord with the self-image I carried with me all these years. That’s someone else in the mirror, someone I don’t know, and he has to go.
Begone, fat fucker! I run thee out of my life!
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Also on Bock:
YES!!! Well done that man!
I am joining you on that road back.
Just out of curiousity now but at what point did the cocksucking begin during the angiogram?
It’s a method they use to raise your heart rate. Highly technical.
I think I’ve had four of them. Isn’t it fascinating watching your own heart on the screen? All in madly-enhanced technicolour. I got a crick in my neck looking at it.
I didn’t look at the fucking thing. I was too busy holding the doctor by the mebbs.
We’re not going to hurt each other, right?
Jesus I couldn’t be doing that. They were all male.
I’ve been told that a good brisk walk for an hour uses more muscles than jogging. Not sure how but nice to know all the same. Probably not as much of a work out for the heart and lungs.
feeling good now? haha, just wait till tomorrow, sunshine! ;D
good luck on the exercise programme…don’t forget to warm up/stretch…
And what exactly was wrong with the sedentary, the slothful life. Unless there is a clear need for speed, like hunting a mercurial bendy young one, then maybe, otherwise *pfft*.
And smoking ?
What’s all this bad shit about smoking?
Jesus H, you’d think there was some harm in it the way you lot are going on.
Couldn’t have said it better myself Sniffle&Cry.
Every morning, I wake up, and I smoke a cigarette. And then I eat five strips of bacon. And for lunch, I eat a bacon sandwich. And for a midday snack – Bacon – a whole damn plate! And I usually drink my dinner.
I live near a beautiful park and the coast and there’s a great run I can take that does my heart and head the world of good. But I hardly ever drag my lazy and increasingly lardy arse out the door. I’ve a decent excuse sometimes, the kids and no-one to mind them. But even when I do it’s just the trauma of getting over the threshold after which I always actually love it. Since I don’t want to get any fatter, and the days are getting nicer, I will make a bit more of an effort. Then when we see each other again we can bullshit about how well we’re looking.