Marathon effort to get back in shape
LIKE MANY, I’ve been finding the new way of life as tough as trying to chew gristly beef with worn out false teeth.
It’s pretty unsurprising really when your two biggest passions in life are live sport and live music, and both have been ripped away from you like a rugby ball when you’re about to build up a head of steam, leaving a void that’s impossible to fill.
Of course, musicians itching to get back to work have done their best with online gigs, but it goes without saying that it’s just not the same, while re-runs of sporting classics can while away a few hours, but taking a seat in the middle of an expectant crowd in Croke Park or the Aviva is what sports fans desperately yearn for.
At least a bit of live sport is starting to trickle back on to our television screens, which is a consolation of sorts, but sadly a family outing to G.A.A. or soccer headquarters is still a distant, faint scrawl on the wish list.
At the start of this insufferable crisis I formed a bad habit where there were more days of the week when I’d have a beer or two than do without, out of sheer boredom more than anything else.
Nothing over the top, but it still starts to take its toll after a while if you don’t mind yourself, and last week the lightbulb finally lit up above my greying hair, telling me to make an overdue change.
I’m never going to have a lifestyle that’s purer than a monk’s thoughts, but small adjustments here and there can make a world of difference to the physical and mental wellbeing of somebody in their mid-forties.
To that end, I starting doing a small bit of running again, trying to do a 5k as many days of the week as the aching body will allow me in my advancing years.
A baby crawling or a dog dragging along on his arse would probably do the distance quicker, if truth be told, but you have to start somewhere.
In fairness, I was happy enough with my early efforts, just glad that I had at least retained some small level of fitness and didn’t collapse in a sweaty heap after the first kilometre.
I’ve found the choice of music can be the biggest factor in whether I enjoy a workout or not, so thinking ahead is key.
Often I like to sit back, put the feet up and let the gravelly tones of Tom Waits transport me to a smoky, dusty saloon, but that wouldn’t be too good at motivating me to put one foot in front of the other at any more than a snail’s pace.
A slightly more upbeat early indie playlist was the beats of choice for the maiden outing, but unfortunately when The Smiths started blaring through the earphones the bubble was well and truly burst.
Morrissey mouthing ‘I wear black on the outside ’cause black is how I feel on the inside’ was certainly a total buzz killer.
Thankfully, after that the tunes were more carefully selected, and as early as the third day I was starting to feel a little fitter.
That said, on that outing I was wearing a red top and it was difficult to distinguish where my neck ended and the training attire started given that I had a face that was a similar hue to a baboon’s backside.
With the Mediterranean-style weather we’ve been having, it’s tough going putting in the miles, while dinner is often cooked on the barbeque these days, so it would be rude not to have the odd cool one to wash down the grub.
But hey, I’m not trying to become an elite Olympian, just making a few small changes for the betterment of my health.
If I keep going, by the time this sorry episode is over I should have more miles on the clock than a clapped out jalopy, and my efforts will start to show on the weighing scales.
I’ve put my plans out there in print now, so I can’t arrive down to the local pitch in a couple of months’ time with a belly that’s hanging freely over the waist of the trousers.
I wouldn’t exactly be the vain type, but if just one person says ‘you’re looking trim’, it will be music to my ears.