Day 4 of “Operation Beach Body” – Bloody Nora!
*For those of you who aren’t already aware, I’ve joined a gym in a desperate bid to retain some dignity on the beach this year. And shit’s just got real*
So I thought it would make sense to get a real fitness instructor to give me a real fitness regime. You know…one where I break a sweat. He asked me what I wanted to achieve and I looked him square in the eye and said “this”
Only joking….what I really said was….”THIS”
After he’d composed himself…he humoured me by saying “that should be achievable” and then set out a 45 minute workout that I must do at least 4 times a week.
“Let’s DO IT!” I screamed in his face…except I didn’t…but I wanted to, really badly.
We started off well…5 minute walk up a virtual hill….piece of piss….a few reps of this…a few reps of that etc etc. And I’ll admit, I was starting to get cocky. He even said “strong you are”...(which is a first)….except without the Yoda’isms, which was a shame.
And then he suggested SKIPPING.
“Do you know how to skip?” he enquired, with a genuine concern that a man of my manliness and immense strength may have poo poo’d the very notion of ever jumping rope (unless I was running away from the FEDS! Or breaking INTO prison!) from an early age.
“I assure you sir…I skip.” I replied. “In fact…I might be the KING of skipping”…I managed not to say immediately after. But I was thinking it.
“Splendid…now I want you to skip for 1 minute. Take a short breather and then do it again. We’ll do 3 minutes just now, but the idea is to get up to 5 minutes” , he explained.
Well I will not lie to you people. I almost guffawed. 1 minute. Of skipping? Working up to 5 minutes? This man clearly underestimates who’s he’s dealing with here.
And so I started skipping. 15 seconds in and he’s all “Oh…that’s excellent!”…and I’m like, “uh huh”. 30 seconds in and I’m beginning to appreciate there’s slightly more to skipping that first meets the eye. By 45 seconds I am almost in cardiac arrest and panting like fat man in a rubber suit trying to clip his toenails with a duster.
“That was great Mark…shall we go again?”
“Hang on just a *wheeze* tick there….you seriously want me to do that again? RIght now? *splutter* Jesus.” , I gasp.
And so began the longest minute of my life. I could literally feel every single fag I’ve ever smoked clawing at my chest imploring me to explain why I’m such a twat. But somehow, through sheer force of will, I managed to complete minute #2. (although I might have inadvertently accidentally on purpose lost my footing a few times in the process)
By now I’m sweating like Steve McFadden in a car park. I’m starting to feel extremely light headed, decidedly wobbly on my feet and I can barely get a word out. I shit you not, I thought I was going to faint right there in front of all the MILF’s. 2 minutes of skipping!
I figure he’ll see what a heroic effort I’ve made and move on to something that involves me sitting down. But no. We’re straight on to minute #3.
“Are you ok mark?” He asks before we start.
“I’ll give it a go”, I reply, somewhat unconvincingly as I’m bent double and dribbling on the floor.
And so begins….the actual longest minute of my life. I did the best I could. I really honestly did, but the old body just couldn’t take it captain! I reckon I managed about 25 seconds of actual skipping and had to call it quits at the 45 second mark. I was officially buggered.
It was at this point, he turned to me and said….”maybe we shouldn’t do the five minutes straight just now then?”
I managed to muddle through the rest of the work out (after a fairly lengthy sit down) and was overjoyed when he said I could go. I hobbled to the car…drove the short journey home in a complete daze. Fell on my bed…and slept for an hour and a half. I’m fairly sure that’s not normal.
Fucking SKIPPING! You try it wise arse!