We’re already two months into the new year and I decided it’s not to late to revisit my resolutions which I had made last year. Yes its true, I’m not joking. I had in all my excitement made some simple resolutions in the beginning of 2016, with the naivety of being able to follow them through. What I didn’t know was that life loves throwing bouncers at us every now and then. And inspite of years of trying to dodge them, we mortals still haven’t learnt to predict them or even avoid them. Anyways the bottom line of my story is that I don’t know where the last year went. It just zipped past at a pace I still haven’t come to terms with. It’s all a blur. Too many things happened, some simultaneously, some giving a breather in between. And before I could figure out what’s happening, I was writing 2017 in the date. I still keep fumbling with the year like I just woke up from a deep slumber and found instead of a Prince Charming, a new calendar! I don’t want to think about it anymore. Forget it (no pun intended). No regrets.
Welcome 2017. My resolutions, made in January 2016, remain steadfast and remainded me of the tasks cut out for this year. The one major resolution I had made passionately and with absolute strong-willed intent was to become more conscious of my health. I guess this is an ailment which all of us who have crossed the dreaded 40s are inflicted with. After years of indulgence and neglect, the body starts showing the after-effects. The last year, the invisible 2016, didn’t help matters. So now is the time for action I decided on the cold January morning of 2017. I searched, located and cleaned my sneakers, tried out my gym pants (thank god for the breathe-easy material, they fit even after all the extra kilos and inches!), updated my playlist on my iphone. I was all set to go, no one or nothing was going to deter me this time. The alarm was set. As I got ready to go to bed, I worked out the routine for the morning. My kids would leave for school and then I would hit the road. Maybe run for a couple of kilometers. Perfect. All set.
I woke up with the first ring of the alarm and was raring to go. Everything went as planned. I did a few warm up exercises and started the walk/run. And then it happened. A few minutes into the walk (I had still not started with the run, thank god!), I was huffing and puffing and looked ready to collapse. I braved on, blaming the cold air, my old shoes, the uncomfortable socks, the ill fitting clothes, anything. But after a few more minutes, my brain wouldn’t think of any more excuses. It was just gasping to survive. I had to admit to myself that this was not working out (what a choice of expression!!). I was too out of shape. I had to start from the scratch. I could no longer give those fat aunties condescending smiles and privately enjoy their unsuccessful efforts at losing weight. Hate you, Shilpa Shetty!
Got back home, feeling depressed, defeated and severely dejected. Come on, come on! rethink, replan, redo the plan of action – I kept repeating to myself so as not to slip back into the comfortable lifestyle that I had been enjoying for the last couple of months. So, ok! The next step I decided to try out was to exercise under supervision. Actually it was more to ensure that I kept to the plan. I joined the gym in our society and went all prepped up to work out a good sweat and watch those calories burning away. Ha! not so easy babe! After two days, I was reminded of Sanghi ma’am and her Bio classes in school. How many muscles (or is it muscle groups?) are there in our body? I just don’t seem to remember, however much I tried. Every body part screamed out for mercy, every muscle begged to be let off. As for me, I was wondering what was I doing – I mean voluntarily getting ready and heading for the godforsaken gym which was located, ironically, on the first floor of the community centre. Looking at those stairs (of course there’s no lift!) one had to push oneself further, motivate oneself to climb up those stairs and into the gym, to be welcomed with a big smile by the taskmaster, I mean the gym instructor. My torture didn’t end there. My gym instructor would push me harder, after knowing about my history of fauji training and marathons (full, half, quarter, whatever) and outdoor activities. And I couldn’t even curse him because inspite of being the tall, overpowering hulk with rippling muscles, he was such a soft spoken person that listening to him over the loud music was itself an effort. Another effort. Also I guess because my mind would be so numb with exhaustion and concentration that thinking anything was impossible. Kind of reminded me of my days at the Naval Academy where it was easier to just follow orders instead of trying to understand and make sense of them.
Anyways, I’m still very much alive and certainly not in a very much kicking state. I just had this overwhelming urge to pour out my grievances on paper. Hence this blog. My biceps and triceps are crying for compasson as I type. Well if you don’t hear from me for some time, you know the reason why.
Here’s to the never give up spirit. Hope you all also have a wonderful and healthy 2017. Maybe a little less painful. But then again – no pain, no gain. Till then, stay healty.
*****
