A Tough Couple Of Months

By Rupert Truscott-Hughes on October 17, 2013 in Other

Photo: Luke Skywalker

Looking into the grandiose mirror above my bed as I struggle to find the energy to rise, the image that peers back at me is not unlike one of Titian’s masterpieces, though my boobs are a touch larger than the maiden’s he portrays. My Caesar sized bed actually looks more like a mere queen in the reflection as my flabby arms wobble and spill over the sides of the bed like a human valance.

While I’m obviously exaggerating slightly, I am quickly becoming the fat person that I have previously written about despising. I have been to the doctor more times in the last few months than I have in a long time. I look disgusting and I seem to be sweaty and stinky within minutes of applying deodorant. I am a disgusting slob and my self-esteem is taking a beating. But I know that I’m not going to find the figure I desire at the bottom of an ice-cream tub. The only figure I’ve found there is an extra digit on the scales (yep, I’ve cracked the tonne).

It’s fair to say that winter has not been good to my large frame, but I’m not going to sit around whinging about it. Complaining burns very few calories; far fewer when you account for the comfort eating that usually follows it.

Instead, I’m going to make a change, and it wont involve $20 ‘impersonal training’ sessions, 24-hour gyms or 30-day challenges. I’m going to do it on my own.

I know that this great little magazine is largely funded by fitness gurus flogging their various fads and I am not for one minute discounting their effectiveness, but, being an old-fahioned bloke, I thought some old-fashioned fitness would be the right fit for old Rupert.

I have decided that I will eat well and in moderation, run each day and do whatever I can in the jungle gym in the park down the road. A regime of sit-ups, push-ups, (double) chin-ups, dips, burpees, step-ups and squats is what awaits. And when the rig starts righting its wrongs I plan to move my workouts to ‘muscle beach’ in Bondi – at present I’m far too embarrassed to expose any flesh in public, particularly on the turf of the beautiful people.

If all goes to plan, I’ll be fighting fit when summer officially swings around and swanning about down at North Bondi in little more than a pair of Speedos and a smile, or sipping cocktails at NBI in an unbuttoned white linen shirt will once again become the norm.

Wish me luck – it is going to be a tough couple of months.