Workout: Pt. 1

Graham R. Cooper

Physical

Let's get physical, physical
I wanna get physical
Let's get into physical
Let me hear your body talk, your body talk
Let me hear your body talk

(A huge hit for Olivia Newton-John. Lyrics by Steve Kipner and Terry Shaddick.)

A year ago, I wrote a poem about the antics of a pair of paradise ducks: (https://grahamrcooper.com/2020/07/13/the-paradise-ducks/). In a recent post I commented on a white-faced heron in a paddock: (https://grahamrcooper.com/2021/07/05/the-herons-are-back/). Why I mention these now is because on both occasions I’d gone for a jog.

Our son took up karate in his early teens and I’d take him in to the dojo in Timaru. After a couple of sessions I’d had enough of sitting on the sideline and decided it’d be good for both of us if I joined as well. I stuck at it for eighteen months, Joseph four years.

These days I couldn’t conjure up a martial arts move to save myself – funny that, after all, it’s only a couple of decades of non-application of the art. I have retained the ability to count to ten in Japanese though (you count in the language as you go through the moves).

“Ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku, shichi, hachi, kyuu, juu,” I’ll say to myself on repeat, as I do Kegel exercises for a couple of minutes morning and night. An “ichi” squeeze, a “ni” squeeze, and so on as I exercise those pelvic floor muscles behind my balls. I mention ‘balls’ advisedly – it’s quite a sexy routine, especially when, for good measure, I finish by doing Kegel-style squeezes of my penis. (It’s a men’s health thing – especially for us old guys.)

The other activity that came out of ‘my karate phase’ (there are heaps of ‘phases’ in my life), is an exercise routine. I bought a second-hand weight bench and free weights, and I also started to jog.

My intention was to do a three to four kilometre jog three days a week, with weights on the alternate days, and one day off. Part of my routine was to routinely fall well short of my goals, but at least I had a routine and I kept at it for a few years beyond my karate days.

Then any semblance of something you’d dignify with the description ‘exercise programme’ fell by the wayside. I just didn’t seem to manage to fit it into my day anymore.

And those of you who’ve been with me on my journey from early on in ‘my blogging phase’ (which is now into its second year and counting), would have no doubt got the impression that I didn’t need to set aside time to workout. That I got plenty of exercise walking hilly paddocks, carting logs, chopping firewood, digging post holes, pushing a heavy barrow, pushing a rotary mower over extensive lawns, going for walks, cycling, tramping – whatever.

I reckon you’re right – for now. But what about my sixty-seven year old body?

“I wish I could keep on doing all the physical stuff pretty much up until the final bucket. And I hope I’ll be physically able to give that bucket one last mighty kick.” How much longer will my body consider granting me those wishes?

To my way of thinking, it’s telling me: “Not a hell of a lot longer unless you pull finger now.” And, of course, for the last eighteen months I’ve been doing bugger all exercise for a big chunk of most mornings – just sitting on my bum writing and doing techy stuff.

So my solution to the “pull finger” problem is to resurrect my workout routine. Can’t say that the restart’s been that crash hot. More stop than start. But at least I’ve made a start.

I’ve told you guys now. If I don’t step up on this one you’ll be able to say, “I told you so”. Will keep you posted.

Next Monday I’ll give you a rundown (or should that be a jogdown?) on my workout routine: Workout: Pt. 2. Until then, that’s all on modern-day homesteading at Little Owl Gully. Thanks for your company. Bye for now.