As I enter my 48th year (sigh) I hear the words of my cardiologist (who lives in Devonport) echoing in my head: “Eat better, drink less, exercise more”. Given that we acknowledge each other somewhat awkwardly in the local New World’s wine section, the words don’t quite have the impact they should have.
That being said, people around me are looking at my apparent weight gain (it’s only been 20Kg over 25 years – that’s not bad is it?) and starting to offer “help”.
I’m not a fan of gyms. Of walking. Of running. Or in fact, exercise in general, so I’ve been scratching my head as to what I can do that isn’t boring and is beneficial. I remembered that cycling was in my past, and I didn’t recall hating it…
To this end, a fine upstanding Lieutenant-Commander in the family, who lives close by in the neighbourhood has loaned me his iron steed. (I’m being poetic).
This thing is going to be my nemesis for the forseeable future.
Today I put aside the mantel worn by the Prince of Procrastination and had a crack. Now, it’s been 26-odd years since I peaked in my cycling (admittedly it was in Palmerston North where hills are pretty hard to find), and I have discovered that any grace, poise and coordination that I’d developed all those years ago, has evaporated.
Bikes have changed. They have sophisticated gear systems. Buttons to push that don’t seem to have a purpose. Seats that aren’t designed for bottoms.
But, my initial spin wasn’t bad. I didn’t fall off. I didn’t sideswipe any parked cars. I didn’t get clipped by any buses. I do need to work on the whole ‘look behind me to see what’s coming without running into a kerb’ thing. However, I’m SO unfit. It’s only got to get better from here, yes?
And oddly enough, I felt a bit overdressed. Maybe I do need to invest in a lycra bodysuit and go full MAMIL.
Fear me good people of the North Shore. My mid-life crisis awaits. (or is that my 2nd or 3rd? I’ve kind of lost count)!
Looking forward to Simon clad in racing lycra! Best of luck with the new regime!