Is this that slippery slope?

Big Rigs - - COLUMN - LIFE WITH KER­MIE GRA­HAM HARSANT con­trib­u­tors@bi­ — Ker­mie (still 86kg)

I LIKE to get up as early as pos­si­ble for my morn­ing walk. Day­break is a beau­ti­ful part of the day.

While it’s still ex­tremely chilly in the early morn­ings around here, it warms up as soon as the sun comes over the hori­zon and is a good rea­son to re­ally stride it out.

Walk­ing around the lake, watch­ing the ducks and swans and the three geese, who are not in the least ag­gres­sive, as well as the pel­i­can who joined them this morn­ing, is good for the mind and soul.

A short stretch where I have to walk on the side of the road is quiet at that time of day and 90 per cent of driv­ers po­litely give me a wide berth.

I’ve been walk­ing the same route since April 6, so those who live along it and are up and about have come to recog­nise me and send me a cheery wave (good) or stop to have a chat (not so good as I’m on a mis­sion).

Dur­ing our re­cent time away I man­aged to do my 5km-plus per day most of the time, apart from the last few days. Amaz­ing how the will can weaken over such a short time.

How­ever, while the first day home was hard, by the sec­ond I was rar­ing to get out of bed and get into it.

The weight stayed stag­nant over that time away, at 86kg, which I thought was pretty good as di­et­ing pretty well went out the door.

Not long after re­turn­ing I found a row­ing ma­chine for free on the lo­cal buy, swap and sell page.

Find­ing it on the page was a lot eas­ier than find­ing it in “the flesh”, so to speak.

The NavGod told me the ad­dress was only 25 min­utes away but when I got into the area it had no idea where the joint was.

Google di­rec­tions was no bet­ter. Nei­ther was a lo­cal farmer who sent me off in to­tally the wrong direc­tion.

Still, per­se­ver­ance paid off even­tu­ally and I found my lat­est (and only) get-fit toy, which will hope­fully help the up­per body tone up a bit.

So, three weeks later I’m still at 86kg even though I’m back on the diet.

I’m work­ing on the the­ory that mus­cle is heav­ier than fat and that un­der­neath the rip­pling blub­ber around my belly and chest is a rip­pling six-pack just wait­ing to spring forth.

At 86kg I’m the light­est I’ve been in more than 30 years, I reckon. Ninety-two ki­los seemed to be the best I could achieve in the past, so you’d think I’d be feel­ing the pos­i­tive re­sults of all that walk­ing and row­ing wouldn’t you?

Not a bit of it! My an­kles ache, fol­lowed by my knees, hips and lower back. Since play­ing oars­man, those bits have been joined by my up­per back, shoul­ders and neck.

This is not how it’s sup­posed to be. I should be leap­ing out of my skin, not col­laps­ing in a crum­pled heap. Per­haps that’s what turn­ing 66 does to you.

After three years I de­cided it was time to get new glasses as the world, par­tic­u­larly through my right eye, was start­ing to look a lit­tle blurry.

No mac­u­lar de­gen­er­a­tion, which runs in the fam­ily, is good. No glau­coma is also good.

The be­gin­nings of cataracts, maybe not so much, but they said I won’t have to worry about it for a few years yet.

Maybe so they can sell me new specs more fre­quently. Ah, 66 eh.

Many, many years ago I wrote a poem for a mate’s birth­day.

It started off some­thing like this: Peter Gray is getting old, Turned 23, or so I’m told, And the booze is harder to hold, Than it used to be... Ha! If we only knew then what we ex­pe­ri­ence now.

Still, my aim is to look back at this col­umn when I’m 76 and say to my­self: “you never had it so good, you whing­ing bas­tard!”

Take care of you,


BEAU­TI­FUL SPOT: Mooroopna’s Lake Craig­muir is on Ker­mie’s walk­ing route.

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