Speech Mark

The last time I tried any competitive sport was three years ago. I joined an impromptu cricket match in the park with some friends and after five minutes fell over chasing the ball, smashing my knee which blew up like a balloon! My retirement from any further such activity was immediate on the basis that I was too bloody old for all those shenanigans. However, after reading one of my previous blog posts, my friend Andy suggested walking football to me as a good way of getting fit. And at first glance, sport at a walking pace on a flat and true artificial pitch carried no threat of repeat damage to my personage. Even though Andy is as fit as a butcher’s dog (despite being roughly the same age as me, for shame!) it still sounded like something I may actually be able to compete at. Or at least something at which I wouldn’t embarrass myself. I signed up for a trial session the following week. My knee performing a perfect impression of a cricket ball just to mock me! It was on...

I’d like to start this post by introducing you to an acquaintance of mine; Bertram. His full title is Bertram Beer Belly and he is my central circumference, as christened by my better half. When my stomach starts to grow, this is a clear sign of Bertram taking charge. Bertram is the beer-guzzling, pie-eating demon that I must conquer; he is the one who orders the Beef Wellington, rather than the salmon and insists on that one final pint before we go home. Bertram is the bad pixie sitting on my shoulder, listing all the fun things I could be doing rather than exercising. He is the dragon I must slay. Bertram wins again It is fair to say that Bertram has been in charge for some time now and as part of the process of wresting control from him I found myself at the gym on a cold Tuesday morning in January, after an absence of a good eighteen months or more. The gym is one I know from previous ‘get fit’ campaigns – there have been several, as I’ve mentioned before - and it’s a ni...