The hollow drone of a quad bike whispers; along the laneway a distant voice.
“Music should be something that makes you gotta move inside and outside.”
Elvis Presley before the cheeseburgers got him.
December has become January. Chocolate and ham weigh heavily on my mind and stomach as I teeter on the bathroom scales. So it’s back to my estranged best-friend, the treadmill. Where’s the iPod? I dial up a pounding beat that catches my heart.
Tap some buttons. Power, start, 3, 2, 1 ...
Monday morning. “Know who you are. Know where you’re going to ...” Noddy Holder quietly screams as my feet pace the endless belt. A month of relentless eating leads to a month of remorseful sweating. I watch the rabbits.
More buttons, faster, steeper ...
2015 was the year of bright ideas. The brightest was driving away the foxes. From fear of culling our dogs with trap or bait, I went old school; lit a fire and smoked them out. Our dogs drove them off as mattock and shovel ruined their sanctuary. Now rabbits bloom in our garden.
One kay down, heart rate up. Tap the go slower button and scull some water.
The windows need washing and that blue car’s acquired more dents; the paint’s a bit less shiny. The dogs mark the tyres then run at rabbits beyond the gate. Carlowe and Finn pretend to be farm dogs. Two rabbits became four, today there are seven, tomorrow...
Three kays gone and a draught trickles through the fly screen.
The breeze on my wet skin carries a scent of silage and cow. The dairy’s released the milkers to the day paddock. They’re probably hosing out the concrete yard as I pass 3.5. Not quite nine o'clock and they’ve already done a day’s work.
Four kays down in too many minutes; too many missed calls to check. (One's too many.)
More water, how much longer? A bit further than last time. Curse those scales. Curse that corn chip (packet). Last year I lost four kilos. To celebrate I put two back on. I tap “go faster” for the shambolic sprint to five. More sweat. More sweat. Stop!
Stretches and stepper, balance disc and mirror.
Horror. Sulk through the lounge room to the kitchen. Talkback radio replaces the iPod. Plunge a coffee, stretch those muscles. Out to the veranda as the milkers spread across that paddock. What should I give up this year? Soft drink? I plant myself on the exercise bike.
“You gotta do it till you’re through it, so you better get to it.”
Elvis Costello (Welcome to the Working Week).
February 3, 2016
What a piece you've written Geoff Ellis! So entertaining whilst it's sheer hell for you. And love the descriptions from your 'estranged best friend' as you toil so determinedly to shed the excess again.
I'm back on the 5:2 fasting regime as the kilos have increased with the wonderful food we can put together on a festive table topped off by apricot dumplings in January - an annual family ritual no-one could resist.
Glad it's Circle Dancing tomorrow - an hour of fun and movement - see you there Geoff!
Sue Packham, Woolamai
Geoff why don't you just admit you are just like the average Aussie.Eating is much more fun than exercise.Reading your article is even funnier.Come back to circle dancing for more fun.Great writing.
Daryl Hook, Pound Creek