Inner Peace & Screams

I used to be supple.

But that was a long time ago and when I did not have a belly that seemed to get in the way of everything and hinder my pursuit of graceful flowing stretching.
Hence I rose from my bed after charging my soul with a beer and a packet of chocolate speckled eggs and stood with my feet about a foot apart.
Gently shifting my weight from my centre to my right leg I swore as my foot immediately cramped, I moved back to my original pose and this time moved left, same result! A cramp in my left foot and the sharp pain caused me to relax to a point where an unexpected breeze escaped from my bottom. If it wasn't for the fact that I had to walk off the cramp I would have been deeply disappointed in myself.

At this moment I did not feel that I was portraying the image of a Zen master, the fact that I was clad in underpants and a Thor t-shirt and not a silk gown, along with the grunts and moans removed any air of beauty and majesty from the occasion.
I took a deep breath and tried again, this time with my arms moving like a swan shot in its wing, legs shaking and a grimace with eyes tightly closed, both feet cramped simultaneously and I tried standing on my toes as an experienced ballerina would, I simply lost my balance.

A normal man would have retired to his bed or couch and had another beer, I had neither a couch or any more beer and thus I persevered.
What followed was 3 minutes of peace and grace filled with silent screaming as my body rebelled and ached to the point where I bowed to honour the fat men who had tried and failed in a desperate attempt to find the 18 year old spirit inside their middle aged bodies.

The visions of every burger I had been enticed to devour in the name of survival floated before my eyes, every delicious silky smooth angel kissed sliver of Lindt that had been force fed to me and clutched to my hips, each cold ale that passed my lips and filled me with joy and laughter danced before me like maidens luring me with their worldly charms. My journey would require the strength of the father of a teenage daughter restraining himself from killing the smiling hormone filled potential sex offender who stood at his door asking for permission to escort his princess to a place where he would not have a clear shot at him with his sniper rifle.

My journey had just begun, and in the words of the wise man, " Have a break, have a Kit Kat", I paused and sank into my bed.

Nite All

Sunday in the Saddle

My Sunday began with a decision to head out early and tackle the road to Maseru, I left Masite Nek and as I left the cocoon of safety and  fortitude of a pain free bottom I realised that this was my first cycle on my own.

Co-rider one was asleep, grumpy and not a morning person and co-rider two decided that visiting his wife in South Africa was more important than dodging taxis on a Sunday morning. This would be my fourth ride of the week and I a step closer to emulating Lance Armstrong, I had a yellow t-shirt on, baggies, drugs in the form of blood pressure meds and happy pills and a hint of Jack Daniels in my system from the night before.

It is important that you understand that I am not some fitness freak who can hop out of bed, run 16km, cycle 24km and then pop a Berocca C and bounce through the day with a smile on my face. I could theoretically pass out if I jumped out of bed, rushing to breakfast leaves me a little flustered and jogging doesn't agree with my rugby destroyed knees or reconstructed right ankle.

I swung onto the main road, and within no time at all was being greeted my shepherds as they tended sheep, goats and cattle, in Lesotho children that are unable to attend school have the option of becoming shepherds, so its not unusual to see a 9 year old in the field tending his flock.
My admin hardened hands were taken a severe beating from the rubber grips of the handlebar, it was as if I had been entrusted with the task of removing all the skin off my palms while my backside bounced on the rocklike seat like Bo Derek bouncing assets in the running scene from the movie "10".

The Lesotho taxi-drivers are more mellowed than their South African counterparts and will hoot and give you additional space if required, this country grows on you more and more each passing month.
I am now finding that with no previous experience and not having the luxury of an experienced rider with me, it is simply a case of get on, get on with it and get back alive. There is no plan of action, its survive till it hurts, dont cry in front of the cheering locals and don't swear out loud, the swearing is pretty safe as I am unable to do much when gasping for air and my throat as dry as forgotten piece of wors on a braai.

This would be my first ride where I didn't dismount and have to walk, even if it killed me. I was crawling home, with wobbly legs, collapsed lungs, bleeding hands and a huge blister of pain where my bottom was meant to be. I turned the corner and the final 200m lay before me and then it was over.

6km or 6000m lay behind me. I was a superstar!

Day 2: Hell is a Hill

Hell presented itself to me today in the form of a never ending hill, no wait a mountain, possibly the highest in Southern Africa.

As I sweated and toiled I am convinced I could hear my FAT (Freshly Aching Tissue) collapse and fall to the ground screaming like a teenager who has been given her first credit card. I was unable to cry as this process requires tears and they come from your tear-ducts in your eyes in your head, my heart had no energy to pump blood against gravity and so my brain was dying. No brain equals no pain equals no tears, Einsteins Fictional Law of Cycles.

I was like a gazelle who gracefully fell off a cliff on the downhills and all I could hear was the flapping of my cheeks as the air filled my mouth, dodging imaginary racers and raising my buttocks to the skies in defiance. The road leveled out and rose and I was in my element, man and machine against nature. After 20m I stopped and tried to adjust the tiny screw that adjusted my gearing with my thumbnail, my nail broke and I was sure I heard the unmistakable laughter of Chuck Norris and Bear Grylls somewhere far far away. Sucking up my pride I set off again and found the local schools practicing their English with me as they overtook me on foot. 

You may be asking yourself what does a pro-athlete like myself think about when they are in the zone, how the heck should I know!!!! I was wondering if it were possible to vomit up a lung and if the body would bounce if I fainted due to the altitude, after all Lesotho is not called the Mountain Kingdom for nothing. And then I looked up and I saw before me Hell, and it was bad, and I said unto myself, "Oh Crap". 
I speak with with experience when I say that the road to hell is paved with tar, loose gravel and the sweat of overweight middle-aged men atoning for a lifetime of laughing in the face of exercise.

And then it was over, I crawled into a shower, lay on my bed and believe it or not planned my next ride.

Death By Exercise

I look at a recent photo of myself and realised that I was no longer the sleek willowy athletic man I used to be. 

A strict diet of beer flavored drinks and lack of vegetable based organic shakes had allowed my muscles to reach a stage of relaxation frowned upon by 99% of medical practitioners. The other 1% who performed my mammogram examination suggested the use of a sports bra. Muscle tone seemed to be less recognizable and even brief flexing in front of mirrors and at shopping centres left me feeling a little light headed. Carbon loading didn't help and neither did the intake of hops tainted energy drinks.

Sadly drastic measures needed to be taken.

Hence the migration to a mountain bike, it was found on special at a well known supermarket and looked shiny and new, wheels turned and brakes worked, surely that was all that was required? Off we went, three of us, unfit and in shorts and t-shirts, Team Disaster. Downhill was very manageable and the need for pedaling minor, I was familiarizing myself with the gearing system and determining which was front and which rear breaks. After a long and dreary 600 seconds we headed back and suddenly hit a wall of wind, severe pedaling was required and my legs were like the pistons on a formula one car, well for 2 minutes at least.

Suddenly the air thinned and I felt as if I was breathing in butane that ignited in my lungs and turned them into a crematorium at full operation, my legs began to wobble and I seemed to loose control over the amount of methane exiting my body.
It was at this point that I had to dismount occasionally and push my bike, this seemed to indicate to the locals that I wished to converse with them, the greetings and questions that were shouted at me were often followed with giggles, as I was unable to speak I nodded and attempted to ride again. With approximately 250m to go I realised that I had all my gear ratios in reverse and that was why I was pedaling like a spinning pro when gentle cycling was required.

It took an hour of lying on my bed gasping for air and not moving before I was able to remove my shoes and socks, 20 minutes of cycling had hurt me more than a Blue Bulls supporter and his teams management choice of pink camouflage rugby jerseys.

"I have been hiding from exercise, I was in the Fitness Protection Program" 

The 3rd Option

I have been away from my girls for 36 days by the time I get back to Johannesburg on Wednesday, that's a long time and add to that the lack of power, which in turn relates to a lack of water and hence no flushing toilet facilities.

Yes I can carry water up 2 flights of stairs for the toilet, but it has an odd metallic chemical taste and I fear that drinking it may lead to the spontaneous  origination of a third nipple or testicle, both which pose dilemmas I do not wish to expose. There is a mental picture I carry in my head of wearing a button up shirt and stretching back as we sometimes do, and lo and behold my middle nipple popping through and scaring all in sight.
The other option is far more graphic and disturbing, picture me running  . . . . better make that walking, slowly on the beach, I become lightheaded from the over exertion and fall over onto my back, legs slightly splayed. Lifeguard rushes in to "save and resuscitate" me, and by accident notices a third lump in my speedo. The third teste phenomena was stated on the coroners docket as my cause of death.
As a matter of interest, how would you walk with a third fella down there? Would you need to seat yourself with more care in lieu of perhaps sitting on one of the three?

This my friends is what goes through my mind whenever our power dies, for the record to date I have no glowing beams emanating from any part of my body so radioactivity can be ruled out.

On that happy note

Nite All

Single Parenting 101

I arrived home after work tired, irritable and basically miserable. It had been a tough day and I was finished.
This in itself is not a problem except I had my two girls waiting for me, excited, hungry and with tons of words they needed to use before they expired and disappeared forever.

So I did what any sensible rational single parent still new to the game would do, I jumped up and down in a tantrum of frustration and selfishness and demanded me-time and silence and a cooked meal. Actually I got hold of a good friend and her advice was simple, suck it up, get over it and love your kids.

You see I never realised the pressure single parents find themselves under, the sheer exhaustion when all have gone to sleep and the washing of dishes and clothes that never seem to end. Its Survivor - The Single Parent!

I love my kids more than life itself and will do whatever it takes to do what has to be done. I will do without and sell possessions if required, but I am human and have to admit that you have to dig deep some days. Life is tough. It isn't fair. And when you're down there seems to be a queue of people waiting to put the boot in. I had a tough day at work and some things were said that were not necessary and it put a real damper on my day. I need to exercise and am wondering if i can find the time let alone the energy to get started. It all takes time and effort doesn't it?

But and yes there is a but, there are moments of unbelievable joy, love and laughter that more than make up for all of this.

My girls have passed out next to me and the flat is dead quiet. It is peaceful and as I listen to their rhythmic breathing I know there is nowhere else in the world I would rather be.

Good Nite All

Dying Trying

I am in pain and my muscles have stage a strike meaning that I am incapable of moving, I went for a 18 minute spin in my body. A combination of walking, jogging and crawling as I attempted to get back home. The problem with living alone is that if you fall down, no-one will know!

I realised that my life was too simple and so added a exercise regime to my agenda, I am somehow convinced that my new washing machine has the distinct ability of shrinking my trousers, they are definitely tighter than normal.
So off I went with Steve Tyler blaring in my ears and my bulky shadow which I have been told weighs more than an new born baby dragging itself behind me.

At first it was ok, after 5 minutes I started feeling sharp pains shooting through my body as my feet screamed at my brain threatening cramps, ingrown toenails and warts the size of snails.
10 minutes and I was passed by a Mom pushing a baby in a pram and I could have sworn the baby shook its head in disbelief.
15 minutes and I had lost all feeling in my face and sweat was running off me like spittle off a St Bernard that had just drunk 2lt of water.

And then I was home, I am preparing myself for a bath an hope I will be able to get out of the bath, I will keep my cellphone close by just in case.

Good Nite

Dr Ted's Diet

So summer is virtually on our doorstop, gym memberships are through the roof and a whole array of diets have taken over the world.

Our mirrors that were hibernating the whole winter now get shown bodies normally reserved for the Wierd and Wonderful Freak show.
There are also the German tourists who wear bikinis and speedos irrespective of hair, fat, warts and respect for the beautiful people. Guide dogs cry at the sight and babies stare in mock horror.

There is only one sensible way to attack this situation and it is by means of dieting.
I have therefore taken it upon myself to publish Dr Ted's Anti-Diet.
It is a six week plan and involves dedication, perseverance and will power.

Without further ado here we go;

Dr Ted's Ant-Diet
There are some basic rules that need to be covered and adhered to.
1. You need to bath in at least 8 glasses of water every day!
2. No chocolate should be eaten with the wrappers still on. It will hinder processing in the colon and bowel.
3. Avoid fat at all costs and do not touch it or anyone who has it, so in short steer well clear of all fat relatives.
4. Exercise is essential! Watch it breathe it smell it, spend time in the gym, all the good ones have a coffee shop situated inside and you can experience the full ambience without having to build up a sweat.
5. A personal trainer of the opposite sex does wonders for eye exercise and neck muscles as you strain to get the perfect view of that butt in action.
6. Accessorise accessorise accessorise! Get the kit, look the part, the amount of calories burnt up by getting into gymgear is the equivalent to wrestling a family of 4 for that last cheeseburger. And wear the headband, it is also great for stopping children screaming during tantrum times.

This will help you en route to your ideal wait for perfection and the effort will not go unnoticed by your GP. If they aren't, change GP's!

Happy Dieting!

Sleep

I can't believe the weekend is here, no I am not going to say that 'yawn' I am a little 'yawn' well maybe I will close my eyes for a second just a zzzzzzzzzz

Good grief I feel like I have run a marathon or even worse, eaten too much pizza and now when I lie on my belly my head can't touch the pillow. What's happened? Is it the end of the year tiredness or is it sleep deprevation from my twenties that have all come at the same time to cash in their dues. Friday night and I have a headache and my bed is my best friend for tonight.

Perhaps I can try yoga but I have visions of snoring and disturbing the other yogimites, or there is also pilates! Stretching and rolling on large rubber balls and using inner muscles? Hang on! That could mean deep inner muscle cramps which lead to screaming like a 2 year old deprived of ice cream.

And what is left? Tryathlones haha the harder I try the more I deny! Running? Well my wobbly bits complain and there is a searing pain somewhere between my ears and toes. Swimming means wearing a really tight piece of rubber on my head and yes people point and laugh. Others fall off training bicycles and a man without a neck and steroids popping out of his eyeballs dropped a weight on his foot and used language that reminded me of a Walt Disney pirated 2D movie.

Enough, Sleeping Meds 3 - 0 Ted

Nite all