I know. It’s six
weeks since I last checked in with a report on my athletic, health and girth
progress.
Does this mean
I’ve fallen off the cart. Faded out. Given up?
No. It doesn’t, although a few events in Real Life have meant that I
haven’t quite done my daily dozen, during that time, with the regularity of the
first days and weeks.
There was the
arrival of ‘Yoshi’ the piano.
There was a rotten
little flu bug. And, of course, there was a whole week out for my Whoopie-Ohio
trip. And much of another week, afterwards, for recovery from the worst jetlag
I‘ve ever suffered. But I had to wrench myself to life, and go down to Holmes
Place to see Sascha the wonderman, because my neck and back were twisted into
the vilest and most painful contortions, after 9 hours times two in an Air
Berlin cattle-class seat. They are, I swear, the skinniest airplane seats and the
most uncomfortable ever.
But, in between
times, I’ve battled away. More of the same. New exercises, new machines. New
frustrations. The right arm (the stricken one) is still noticeably the weaker.
And progress doesn’t go in a straight line. Just when you think you’ve
conquered that repetition of the 6kg weight, the next day its all custard.
Well, today I did
conquer it. 15 good presses with each arm … and then a friendly German with a
perfect body (no 6-pack) came by and picked up the 10kg one … sob! … and did a
perfect arabesque while holding it. And he wasn’t even 20 years younger than I.
But neither did he have a belly.
Yes, my belly is
still a feature. I’m afraid it’s never going to go wholly away. But it IS
better? Yes?
But what’s more:
I’m better. Really. And I feel
better. Especially when I don’t drink more than x cocktails or one bottle of
wine an evening. Yes, I know. The boys at the gym are shocked. They’re young,
healthy and teetotal. But, I’m sorry. I’ve given up every other vice ‘a
gentleman never mentions’. I’ll drink less, but not nil. Doctor’s orders!
But today was a good day. Even if a solo day, for
Paul was off in Hof at a wedding. Somehow, my workout stretched to 50 minutes
(Nik has been teaching me all sorts), even without the painful roller, and
without the machines that were busy. Then I met my new German friend at the
pool, and had a nice chat. He’s got a job interview tomorrow: please! that he
gets it. His wife is living and working in Berlin, while he’s boarding 400km
away where his job is. Well, I guess if I meet him in the spa again, it means
he got it!
I had the sauna
all to myself, so I dripped for 12 minutes. An English spa nurse once said I
shouldn’t do sauna, because of my heart ‘problem’. So I don’t usually go in
alone. Well, that’s my excuse. I enjoy the sweating. But I do get the giggles
sometimes.
Is there a sauna
etiquette? I mean, there are heaps of rules round Holmes Place. Where you must
and must not wear footwear, badehose necessary (sadly) in the pool. And, I
think, no badehose in the sauna. It’s
all right, if you’re modest you can have a towel. But …
We all go in with
a towel, most of us lie on it (the shelves are hot!). Others drape it
tactically, or wind it aggressively round their waist. You have about 10pc
peacocks, 20pc free spirits, 40pc artistic arrangers, 25pc towlies (the girls
have theirs on their hair) and 5pc illegal badehose. It is rare to speak or
smile (a few of us do, though). And, I think, probably considered ‘bad manners’
to look. Yet, when they go outside, many of the ‘shy’ ones shower and rub down naked
… The funniest are the Egyptians. I don’t know if they are from Egypt, but
that’s what I call them: they remind me of the Egyptians in the Asterix comics.
All 30-40 (?) with a North African complexion, all with gayshaven locks, all
with Pierce Brosnan semi-beards, all with more or less successfully cultivated
bodies, and probably a less successfully cultivated IQ, and ALL with their
genitalia locked away behind tight towels or trunks, as if it were against
their religion to be seen otherwise. I don’t think they go to the gym: just the
pool and sauna.
Me, I just amble
in, take the nearest spot, stretch out on my towel, shut my eyes (no, not for
THAT reason, the sweat gets in them otherwise!), have a good drip for 10
minutes or so and then out. Grand cold shower, repeat in steamroom, shower II,
and then off to the weighing room.
Today I was a
world record 75.2kg. If, in the six
weeks remaining, I can lose one kilogram more, that will be 10kg shed during my
time here. A stone and a half? Add to that Sascha’s revitalising of my arms and
hip … I think I can say ‘mission highly successful’. 2000 euros well spent.
So, on I go. Wish
me luck for those 6 weeks! This has been a grand summer project. Three cheers
for Holmes Place and all who sail in her!
Planning to test your wine resolution on 9 and 10 November, but one bottle a day sounds satisfactory!!
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