I am now on a diet!

First time in my life at age 58.

I have nobly resisted all kinds of dieting. Now the need is obviously apparent if you had to see me. I have to do something. Reluctantly I agreed with my wife that I will do it! As Garfield the comic strip cat said “Dieting is spelled like that for a reason, DIE – ting!” I heartily agreed with my feline friend throughout my life, but now I bow to logic, camera evidence and most compelling of all, uncomfortable and very tight clothing. My trousers in particular and my belt specifically, have a miserable life of trying to hold back the tide of a big belly.

This past Friday was horrible for me as I had to wear formal slacks, a cotton non-stretchy shirt and a belt that is at its absolute limit. The occasion was to attend the declaration ceremony for my eldest daughter who now is one of the newest doctors in the country. So joyful suffering was my lot, together with photographs which I utterly hate even when in the midst of crowds doing the exact same thing with their own wondrous offspring.

I shall now recount some of my history to show you the decline of a sporty person.

When at school, I was not much of a sports player. I was the shortest male for my age. I had become seriously addicted to chess and had no interest in any other sports. In the last couple of years at high school I joined a soccer club, but as it was not rugby, the school never catered for this game.

When doing my national training, I did some boxing but nothing else really. Obviously training involved a great deal of running.

After the military I started to play table tennis seriously, and then squash. I played table tennis provincially and squash I played league squash for Cambridge Club in East London. I became very fit. In the late 1980’s my right hand got broken when riding my motorbike. This put an end to my table tennis efforts, I would only play it casually in the future.
My focus then switched to squash. It is a game where you either think or run. The superior players think and lesser skilled players like me run! By thinking I mean ability to dictate the pace of the game to your opponent, to be able to dominate the centre of the court. The superior players are able to control the game by skill to place the ball at the most difficult place for their opponent to reach. They also have great skill at foot placement, body alignment and timing when striking the ball. It is like a game of chess where body and mind are coordinated when confronting the opponent.
In my last years of bachelorhood and when still staying at home (confession), my Dad and I used to go play Mashie golf at the nearby Cambridge Sports Club. Mashie golf is usually a nine-hole course where the distance between Tee and Green varies from about 60 meters to about 150 meters. My youngest brother also used to play with me. We siblings could play the entire 9 holes in about half an hour. I called it slog and jog. We must have played about six rounds per week and we knew the course extremely well. I hit five holes in one at that particular course, not so much achieved by skill but by the “Law of Averages”, so many poor or average shots accompanied by a rare good shot (or lucky shot, same thing).

I told the directors at my work about my mashie golf exploits, they eventually got me to play proper golf. I had got married about that time and my dear wife allowed me the freedom to continue playing a lot of sport in golf and squash. I remember when I had been playing proper golf for just over six months, I hit a “hole in one” at West Bank Golf Club. Tradition requires that the golfer who gets this fluke must stand the whole club a round of drinks. To my amusement and to my wife’s annoyance, the insurance for my property covered the cost of the round of drinks! Michele was annoyed because “how ridiculous is that? Your insurance covers such a frivolous event!”

Anyway, the point of sharing all of the above, indicates just how fit I was.

I could go do a practise run or two then go complete a ten kilometre race the following week. I once ran the Daily Dispatch 10 km race in East London. My running mate was a big man who had been a Parabat lieutenant (parachute battalion), and was remarkably strong both in body and mind. He poured amused scorn on me as I tried to pass a young girl of about 12 years in age and I just could not do it! I planned to pass her in the last 500 meters and I increased my pace to my absolute capacity, but the little cow just increased her pace and remained in front of me the whole race. I never saw that girl's face, only the soles of her running shoes. I just about puked at the finish of the race (I completed the run in 51 minutes), I still have a good chuckle when I remember that run.

I moved to a little town just outside East London called Stutterheim and even though I was playing 4th league in East London, the Stutterheim Country Club found me to be their best squash player. The Country Club was the heart of that little community. Every weekend everyone congregated to the club for braais (barbecues) and drinks while the kids ran around on the beautiful lawns. It had a lovely 9-hole golf course, tennis courts, bowls and even a squash court.
The one festival day they devised a challenge for me. The one chap remembered seeing an exhibition where the world champion at the time, Jeff Hunt, had played the next seven best players in the world, from number seven up to the number two ranked player. I was to be the victim. I duly agreed and played. I remained unbeaten after two and a half hours of play. I had dried foam in the corners of my mouth and I could barely move at the end. Yep, I was certainly fit.

But time passes for me as it does for you. I was playing sport quite intensively but I was aging, I also got a bit smarter and made most of my squash opponents run more than I had to. But I was putting on weight and the amount of squash I was playing got less and less.

Then my medical drama of the tumour (see previous articles here in Steemit). I was eventually fixed up after a couple of years but no more squash nor golf. My weight started to climb from early 70 kilograms to just over 83 kilograms. I had to do something but what? In consultation with my doctors, I was told that swimming was allowed. Great, but I tend to swim like a stone.

Water aerobics is the answer! I remember sneering at those doing it but my sneering was based on ignorance. I was astounded at the strength and endurance of the teachers. I try my best to keep up with them but after a year, I am still way behind their fitness levels but I try my best. A person can only get as much out at they put in to water aerobics. Due to my height I drink a lot of water in the pool (unintentionally) and when I am copying the instructor, my head feels as hot as a cooked tomato.

Now the diet, drastic measures are called for. Michele decides to do the “Banting Diet” which is based on high fat and low carbohydrates. Well a month later I have managed to lose just over 3 kilograms. I don’t miss sugar as much as lovely, beautiful, bread.

Damn, those crispy fluffy rolls haunt my sleep, but I must press on regardless. Discipline is the key.
What about you? Do you fight the noble fight against the temptation of fast foods and fizzy cool drinks? Do you fight for a (more) narrow waist? Our society does make the quest to become an “ideal woman” quite ridiculous for women. The poor creatures (in general) suffer from unnecessary guilt, whereas the male counterpart doesn’t seem to worry too much about their shape and weight.
My back can only carry so much and I don’t want to suffer the fate of the dinosaur. So farewell beloved bread, we cannot be friends any more. When the far distant land of less than 75 kilos arrives, who knows? Maybe then we can be occasional friends?