Is this that slippery slope?
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.