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Vanity Check

Fit Vs Flab

It's a no-win situation when you hit a certain phase in your no-longer-so- young life. Metabolic rate slows down, a meal seems incomplete without the de riguer dessert to wrap it up; wining and dining is not an "if" but a "when". Exercise is not part of the everyday vocabulary. It seems more gratifying to watch mindless reality productions and commiserate with the ups and downs of "The Biggest Loser".

One day it struck home. The weighing scales do not lie. It registered a whopping 5 kg increase over an ideal weight I had carefully nursed over the years. My teenage daughter had to talk me out of certain outfits - "Mum, that is so not flattering - your tummy is showing..." As if I don't know it - can't even squeeze into some favourite used-to- fit- so- well clothes anymore, and we can forget about jeans altogether - they are most unforgiving. Ouch, truth hurts.

Time to do something drastic. I confided in the SS ( Supportive/Suffering Spouse ) that I will be going on a regime. He tried to look serious.  I reminded him of our contemporaries who have gone on to morph into lean and mean machines as marathoners, and one dear friend who started at 50 and is now aiming to compete in the "Big 5 " round the world. And here we are, me with my pithy sporadic pilates and his once a week round of golf...Very sedentary people.

That was 3 months ago. With a much more intensive schedule of pilates and gym time, the flab is slowly melting away. More exercise translates into more oxygen getting to the brain, ( = fewer senior moments ) less lethargy, ( = no more afternoon naps ), more energy for creative pursuits ( whatever that means ). It works as the occasional aphrodisiac as well. No wonder exercise can be addictive.

The SS no longer finds it amusing. In fact, he has entered the fray with a vengeance by swimming twice a week and increasing his laps. I am impressed. The competition is upping the stakes. Whenever I am tempted to slack or skip a session, I am reminded of the other dutifully fighting the battle of the bulge and I soldier on, huffin and puffin.

At the end of the day, it is so satisfying to fit into old clothes again, and to say goodbye to those love handles that had been good to cuddle, but will not be sorely missed.
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