To a Healthy Living

Definition of exercise: A measured dosage of pain inflicted upon yourself at a convenient time with the hope that by doing so the same pain doesn't occur at an incovenient time and at inconvenient levels.

My tryst with exercising or the art of keeping myself fit dates back as far as 7 years ago. Yup, I'm a veteran fitness freak. I saw the path to fitness and a fab body lying through a ground floor room housing a bunch of exercising equipment and which had been christened (for lack of a more appropriate single word) as a gym. From what I'd heard, it seemed quite simple really. You go to the gym (that hallowed place.....), 'work out' (whatever that means!) for sometime and you emerge; flab all melted away and in its place, muscles of steel. Gazes of admiration and the inevitable drooling from all required to be impressed would automatically follow.

And so, at the highly impressionable age of 16 and with a nickname of Motu (aka The Incredible Bulk), I entered the gym for the first time. Quite obviously, I had learnt what I needed to about the art. The trick was to start slowly and build up gradually.

I still remember that first day. I left home for my first ever workout at around 4:15 in the evening. in the process skipping my daily dose of Small Wonder to accommodate this. After all, sacrifices have to be made for such a noble purpose. After 15 mins of doing the rounds in the gym, at 4:30 pm, I was back home, quite exhausted with that effort. I had also heard that its important that one remains well nourished while working out and so I quite appropriately, I spent the next hour or so eating packets of biscuits and potato chips.

I got into this routine on a regular basis (there's that word again) and over a period of 1 month, I did as planned and gradually built up my routine. I must say that I was quite pleased with my effort. Doing 10 minutes of gymming (plus 5 mins travel to and from the gym which cannot be discounted since walking technically does count as exercise...) was bound to make me into a hulk in no time! And that's not counting my carefully regulated diet. After 1 and a half months, the new and improved me stepped forward at a shot put competition which was part of my annual sports meet. "Ridiculously simple sport...", I said. "Atleast for the likes of me! I've been gymming for one and a half months now!! After pumping iron for these many days, what's there to chucking a sphere of metal?!"

As I returned home that day, booted out ignonimously in the preliminary screening round of that event, disillusionment set in. Along with disillusionment came its familiar companion, resentment. And along with that came its companion, excuses. I made my peace with fitness and exercise through a series of cribs and excuses and instead claimed that regularly playing sports is the only way to good health. Since there were few people with whom I could play any kind of sports with (or so was my excuse), there ended that phase of fitness freak-ness for me.

But I am older now. And much wiser. Or so I claim.

I have been working out regularly (I love that word. It could mean anything from once a week to everyday.) for the past month and I can proudly stand here in front of you, with the conviction that exercising does work! Yes, my dear friends, it can perform miracles. If I could say the same in any other language, I would scream it out to the world that "Yes yes yes!!! It indeed does work!"

Quite unfortunately, there is the small problem that my weighing machine somehow refuses to speak any language that I do and so claims that I've gained 2 kilos over the last month. Hmmm...