It’s the first of
July. Not the fourth or the fourteenth. My fête nationale is the first. It’s
the end of the second month of my Personal Improvement Project. My second month
in the hands of Holmes Place, Potsdamer Place, Berlin, and all who work there.
So, what have I
done, and what is the result feeling and looking like?
Well, I’ve worked
pretty hard, in much the same manner as I did in month one. Nik has introduced
me to a heap more exercises, some of which have become part of my daily
routine, some of which have been consigned to the ‘too hard’ box. I don’t mean
‘too hard’ as in work ‘hard’, but I don’t feel comfortable or safe doing prone
barbell work alone, or floor roller exercises without supervision, and oh!
having to re-learn the rules of a lifetime! No fourth position, don’t point
your feet, don’t over-extend and, worst of all, ‘arch your back’. I’ve been
trying to NOT arch my back for 60 years! That’s worse than ‘stomach in, butt
in’! But the lurking lads in red shirts will always tell you if you are doing
it wrongly.
Anyway, I promise,
I really am trying. I trot down to Holmes Place nearly every day, I do my
forty-ish minute full-on routine (a bit more these last days), with increasing
weights, then my water exercises, and finally I take my dip-n-sauna. Paul was
with his Aussie family, over in Europe for a holiday, for ten days, and my
stickability was tested. But I did the voyage alone (one rainy day missed), did
my stuff and enjoyed it, had a plate of yummy soup in the wee canteen, and felt
quite a cavalier. Especially when, one day, just for one day, the scales
announced: 77.4kg. Mostly now its just over 78.0kg.
That’s six kilos
gone. Six kilos. That’s the weight of the dumbbell which I still can’t manage
to stand-press five times consecutively with the bad arm. My body has lost
THAT!
Of course, size,
or rather weight, isn’t everything. Shape is what I’m after. Balance.
Steadiness. And, needless to say, general fitness. I’d like to be able to walk
freely and surely. And, here, I’ve made a discovery…
I’ve been back to
Sascha the masseur. This time I told him, ‘hit it’. ‘It’ being the right hip
and groin which have given me trouble off and on for forty years, and wholly ‘trouble
on’ since the stroke. Well, not everyone wants to massage that area of a chap,
but Sascha is a pro, and he ‘hit it’. Bloody Hell. ‘Hasn’t anybody dealt with
this?’, he asked. I had to admit ‘no’. Not because of MY modesty (I haven’t
any), but because of theirs.
Sascha has been on
holiday since then. He’s back this week and I’m booked in. I’m walking better
than I have for years, and with almost no pain, since his ministrations. Zeus
bless him.
This weekend, Paul
returned, having tasted the delights of the Parisian Disneyland and Berlin in
the company of Ella (9), James (7) and Josie (4).
He said: ‘your
belly’s shrunk’? Hmmm … the mirror tells me that a lot of it is still there! We
did another photo session. I don’t know. Is it better? The belly, I mean. All
that weight must have gone from somewhere. Well, I’ll just carry on! I’ve got
aches and pains in places where muscles (?) are being awakened from their Sleeping Beauty hundred years’ sleep, though
the bags under my eyes and down-creases from my mouth (ugh!) haven’t budged (they
are difficult to exercise) … but folks still say ‘you look a different man’…. I
only notice that spare flaps of flesh under my arms seems to have gone …
So, on into month
three …
And we’ll see.
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