Flesh is weak. I oughta know.
Every winter I promise myself that I’ll be better than I was the winter before, gain less weight, eat well, and maintain the aerobic fitness I built up over the previous summer.
Then it gets cold outside. Then I catch something. Then I catch something else. Then it’s the Christmas holidays feast time. Then coworkers bring mounds of uneaten holiday junk food to work. Then work gets busy. Then I’m tired out from powder days on the mountain that are probably even worse for my body than sitting at a desk all day. Then winter carries on late into early spring. Then the snow won’t melt fast enough to play outside. Then I catch something else that’s really nasty.
Before I know it, it’s Loonie Race season, and I’m planning trips to Kamloops and the Sunshine Coast to mountain bike. I have less than two months to train for the Comfortably Numb Trail Run, starting at less than zero on the conditioning scale for the third year in a row. I’d go outside and start being active, but I’m not quite recovered from my latest illness yet. Besides, it’s the playoffs…
I tried. I really did. My wife and I started the New Year with a game where we did 20 pushups, situps, or other exercises every time we swore. I have a mouth like Scarface.
I also bought a wind trainer for our spare room last fall so I could ride a bike indoors for a few hours a week. Then we rented out the spare room the bike was in, moved the bike into our bedroom, and then found I didn’t have that many hours to spare.
It’s too bad because I figured out I could play my Playstation 2 for hours while pedaling, thereby combining two enjoyable things I rarely get to do. I even watched a few hockey games from the saddle, standing up to pedal during powerplays to really get my blood pumping.
Despite these efforts, I entered the month of May with exactly four pathetic runs under my belt, two bike rides that weren’t on pavement, and a chest cold I’m quite sure is Pneumonia though the doctors tell me differently. I was away for the office flu shots last November, and I’m sure I’m paying the price.
It’s not that I don’t consider my health a priority, or try to be healthy. It’s just that health, in the Whistler sense, is practically a full-time job. I could probably go back to Ontario and still give most of my friends a run for their money, but by the Whistler standard of fitness I’m a shopping cart abandoned in the parking lot of a Porsche dealership.