Christmas Epiphany


During the Christmas and New Year’s holidays I have had what I can only describe as a very uncomfortable epiphany. Let me explain.

As many families do over the Christmas holidays we were visiting relations scattered around the southern half of the UK. Once we had survived the interminable drive to London, lunched with aforementioned relations, we headed down to the South coast. Arriving at our hotel, a Premier Inn we collapsed gratefully into our family room and began to relax. The rooms are compact and functional leaving little space for stretching out except on the beds opposite the TV which we all did and began watching a repeat of the Stephen Fry/Bear Grylls weekend in the Dolomites documentary.

Then it happened.

I looked away from the screen and caught a fleeting view of my reflection in the mirror. My head stopped traversing and slowly moved back to rest on the person in the mirror. What I saw was a shaven headed troll with cloth covered flesh bulging over it’s belt giving it the look of a ¬†Buddha. The vision was at best disturbing, until I concentrated for a second and realised that the shaven headed troll was me. Oh shit…

My physique has generally been thought of as solid bordering on cuddly, just the right size of fat and a good long jump from obese. Now; I’m not sure. What I saw was more a character from a Beryl Cook painting looking distinctly curvaceous. Even now, a week later, I am struggling to articulate how I felt. Disbelief was I think the first emotion, followed quickly by disgust and then shame. How had I let myself go like this?

As with most things, it had been a gradual process of gaining the odd pound here and there. If I had been on a mad chocolate and cheese bender I could have understood it, but this insidious increase in body size and change of body shape was frightening and oddly far worse.

This required action. Real action. I have spent hundreds, perhaps thousands of pounds on not going to the gym, not running , not cycling, you get the picture. Now I was going to have to actually do the exercise, eat the salad and loose the pounds. Oh shit…

My wife is training to run a half marathon in the New Year, so as a way for her to measure he progress I had bought her a ‘fitbit‘. You wear it as a bracelet on your wrist and it measures the number of steps you take over the course of a day, the distance you walk or run, intense bouts of exercise and can even track how restful your sleep is. The aspect I found most fascinating was that it could tell you the calories you had burned and you could input what you had eaten and it could tell you your net calorific intake and with a food plan could set you targets to help you loose the weight…

Within two days my wife had ordered me a fitbit¬†and battle had commenced. This collection of flashing lights on my wrist is strangely motivational. I find myself tracking the number of steps I’ve taken, distance covered and calories burned without realising I’m doing it. I’ll let you know if my excited motivation transforms me into a lean sculpted adonis or whether it is on the bedside cabinet around week two…

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