One thing about my version of adulthood is that I am constantly worried about my health. Money is at the top of my worries, definitely. But there’s this thing about being in my early twenties with the pot belly of an aged Kenyan politician about to run for presidency that doesn’t sit well with me.
A year ago, I used to be at my optimum body parameters. With skinny jeans that fit me; t-shirts that lay flat on my chest minus the two socially distanced peaks pushing out from within; and a wardrobe full of clothes that actually fit me, I was comfortable. I call mine -the peaks- ‘Man’ and ‘Boobs’ because, Man Boobs.
After the pandemic hit, I came to cherish the memories of when the clothes in my wardrobe used to fit me. Working out was my only way back.
Having done nothing but sit, watch TV and sleep for nine months , I had a long way to go. I was basically an old couch in the basement, with the exception that my limbs could actually move voluntarily. I needed to work out.
Exercise requires consistency, and when it comes to consistentcy, I am as reliable as Kenya power. Maybe worse. The first week of work-out saw me religiously apply myself to intense workouts; push-ups, crunches, …that’s it. And with every drop of sweat that oozed out of my skin, I could see myself in Michael B. Jordan’s body.
Second week saw me lose the energy to work out. And, like many relationships in Nairobi, the excitement wore off. Prematurely. But it wasn’t the work-outs, it was me. I just wasn’t there. I had applied myself, cried and struggled for this, but this wasn’t working out. I needed time. So I slacked. And down the drain went my consistency.
My one week of working out yielded a zero displacement to my initial situation. My body was still the same. The stomach plump and saggy like a bull’s balls. And it wasn’t long till I realised that as much as I worked out, I still ate like I’m in competition. It was like kicking a ball uphill. Or wearing a mask on the chin. I had to reduce my food intake. And that meant a reduction from my three-person serving to a two person-serving. The pain.
I also noticed that music is kind of important during working out. Scientifically, I can’t explain why, but I strongly suspect it may have to do with chemicals produced by the body, especially when listening to Wakadinali. Some music does bring out the beast in you.
Anyway, it’s been months since my last post –the one which I was to update you guys on my weekly work-out progress– and all I can say is, Life, is hard. My only take out is that, when working out, consistency is key.
Also, don’t wear Nike’s when you can’t do it…
Featured image courtesy of Audrey De Gamez