Friday, 14 April 2017

Goldielocks and the Kung Fu Panda

It's 4AM, I am blindly stumbling around the house trying to get my motoractions to do what my brain is telling them. I'm excited to be heading back to Wellington and to be working again but blurry from sleep deprevation.

I fall into the shower which wakes me up, head upstairs and then it happens, that Goldielocks moment that will forever haunt me.

First I carefully took the charcoal coloured suit out from its clear wrapping - still waiting from the last contract in December and trip to the dry cleaners afterwards - and put it on... but it was too small...

Then I tried the silver CK one next to it but it was even smaller!

Then I tried the blue suit and it was just right - well kinda, not really, snug... and one size bigger than the others... WTF people!

First thought, my clothes are shrinking, next thought, aggggggh, I'm fat again!

Oh dear.

OK. To be fair I have been sedentary - like a garden ornament - since February and have even made an indent in my couch, in-between prospecting for work.

Yes, I watched seven seasons of Supernatural, three of QI, and two of 8 out of 10 Cats and 8oo10C Does Countdown, back to back - it was a good effort which took over two weeks to achieve.

No, I did not alter my calorie consumption from when I was regularly riding... and actually moving during the day.

OMG! I'll never get a chick to date at this rate! I want a date! Wah!

For motivation and having a rather scathing internal monologue (an understatement) I have called myself, a fat fuck, fattie arbucks, fattieboomboom, lardarse, and fat bastard.

Oh no, I'm fat bastard!

Aggggh I say! Aggggh!

So I am hell bent and also determined to lose this large amount of flab I've gained in the last eight weeks.

First up calorie check... OK sure, now lets see. For my height, weight, age, amount of exercise... carry the 1... adjust for losing 1KG a week... I should be consuming approximately 2500 calories a day, that seems a lot...

Cool how much have I been consuming...  around 5500 a day... ah, there's your problem.

I can do this.

Right first up, there I was in black track pants and white T-shirt, staring down the paddocks in the ready position - no the other ready position.

Tam Tui 1 to 8 here I come and... begin.

What? I did it when I was sixteen I can do it now... its only been 30 years, what could possibly go wrong?

Head punch, grapple, head punch, thunder punch, front kick... back and forth, round kick, sweeping kick, block high, head punch, grapple, reverse block, streeeeetchy block, side kick, head punch, grapple... stomach buldging... waddling down the paddock, chuffing like a flustered bull.

Let's face it I look like Kung Fu Panda.

My shadow confirms the bloated and distended form.

How did this happen? Maybe it was all those cakes... or the wine, or the fast food...

I am already stiff and sore, and puffing, so much puffing. I'm sweating profusely by the time I've been through the Tam Tui I know and the puffing. Did I mention the puffing?

Not good enough you fat shit, my ever present and supportive internal guide encourages, do it again and this time do them right! Off I go. Head punch, grapple, head punch, thunder punch, front kick...

I do this three days in a row, waddling back and forth ignoring the pain and then stretching out with some Yoga.

Day four I am bigger, heavier and non-functional.

It hurts to move, I mean I've been propping myself up at the table in meetings well enough and just kinda wait until everyone's moving or noisy before I attempt to move.

Its like someone has poured lead down my legs and through my waist. Heavy, grunting, I claw my way through life's engagements.

Ow, heave, ow, puff.

No I didn't do too much too soon, the damage was done last month and I must be punished, I must pay.


Lets see, drastic moves required. On my agenda is:
- Kung Fu twice a week
- ride a local school horse twice a week
- yoga and defintion on the total gym
- get on the old 5:2 diet
- wear suits
- save the planet
- get the chick
Fuck yea!

It took two months to get here so two months it is to get back.

Whats that? It'll take me longer than that. Hah! The lard is going to fall off in strips. None of this 'sticker for second' or 'everyone gets a gold star for trying' shit. Life - if it can be called that - is better than that with even a little determination.

This is hard out, panic driven, commitment. Just sheer and abject fear.

This is going to be a binary measure as well. I'm not going to weigh myself or anything stupid like that. I have to regain the muscle to do the activities first, so I'm going to weigh way more to start with. How demoralising.

Either my suits will fit or they won't.

What a crazy stupid thing to have let happened.

At this point in time, at my age, suddenly the joke of this blog isn't that funny. There is now a real possibility that I will die alone eaten by cats! Soon! Its not funny any more! OMG! I'm fat! Watch Out! Walking heart attack risk coming through!

Its time to stop eating, stop whining, start exercising.

Mmmmm... more cake anyone?

PS: Two weeks in.

Charcol suit fits as long as I don't do anything drastic... like breathing - fuck yea!
5:2 is easier than I thought it would be, still at that point in time when I'm surprised at not waking up hungry after a fast day... that's because you're a fat fuck... thanks inner monologue!

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