Life, kids etc.

Why I have resolved to make it a happy new year

National Guard Minnesota Performing push ups i...

I could soon be like this man

IN JUST a couple of weeks’ time it’s a fair bet that a good number of you will be fretting over your New Year resolutions.
Handing over your hard-earned cash to the new gym you are “definitely going to stick with this year”, perhaps passing on that fourth choc chip all butter shortbread biscuit when the plate comes round, that‘s what the first couple of weeks of January have in store for some of you.
Well with all the excesses of Christmas, it’s about time you got fit, you‘ll tell your pals.
Not me though. I’ll be skipping it this year. And the reason? It’s because I am way ahead of you.
I mentioned a couple of months ago how my wife and I had decided to shed a few pounds and even started a bit of healthy competition, if you’ll pardon the pun, with the winner of our Friday weigh in picking that night’s film (the nights just fly by in Chez Short, they really do).
Anyhow, it effectively means my New Year resolution kicked in in late September. ‘Ave it! as a much more famous, much fatter man than me might say.
I’ll be honest though, when I started the new regime, I expected to have a lot more to show for it by Christmas.
A few pounds have gone, sure.
Sadly, like all New Year resolutions, even those started in late September, they tend to frazzle out.
I am already eating like a pig again and then convincing myself that 10 push ups when I get up in the morning will cover it – then stand looking at the weighing scales in amazement when they say I’ve only lost a ounce at best.
My wife, bless her, kindly suggested that “maybe the fat has turned to muscle, which is heavier”.
She can afford to take pity on my rubbish efforts though.
For Mrs Short has turned into Jane Fonda. When she’s not doing a home workout with some psycho personal trainer on DVD she’s out running. Talk about dedication.
And she recently dropped this bombshell: “I’ve signed us up for the Great Manchester Run,” she breezily declared, between star jumps.
That means by May I have to be able to run 10k without dying. It’s no small task.
To help her, Mrs Short has been following an NHS podcast called “Couch to 10k” which starts you off running for just a minute or so in your first few days and builds up, over a few months, to the 10k mark. She’s six weeks in and going well.
Luckily, I‘ve found a similar programme online. It gets you up to 5k in six weeks. So by my reckoning I can just do it twice in a row, which means I don’t need to start it till February. Result!
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Eat, pray, love, cry

English: A senior citizen while practicing his...

Getting fit can ruin your weekend

FRIDAY night used to be something to look forward to.
TFI Friday and all that. Party time.
Now, though, I dread the arrival of Friday night. And every seven days, a new one pops along to ruin my week.
I must point out that this hell is entirely of my own making.
It started innocently enough, just a couple of months ago.
Myself and Mrs Short decided we needed to lose a bit from the middle and do a bit more exercise. We’d both been thinking about it, independently, for some time.
But that Sunday afternoon, when I couldn’t pull myself all the way off the settee and reach right across for that last Fillet o Fish, we realised the time had come.
“What we need is some sort of challenge to keep us focused,” she said.
After half an hour of lively debate, we hit upon this: whoever loses the most weight at the end of the week gets to pick a film for us to watch on Friday night.
Granted, it’s not the most out-of-the box idea we’ve ever had, and to be honest I preferred some of the ideas we ruled out – loser has to lick batteries being up there with the favourites.
But at the end of that first week when my three pound loss crushed her measly one pound, it was time to choose. I plumped for Watchmen, a live action retelling of a wonderful comic book thriller, full of violence and fallible superheroes. I thought we’d both like that one. And at three hours long, there’s plenty to enjoy. Unwittingly, it was a declaration of war.
And ever since I’ve been spanked in the weigh in.
Ever since I’ve been forced to sit through some of the most syrupy, girly, rom-com tat ever made.
The thing is, she hates it as much as me, I’m sure. But each week I have to endure this very peculiar form of 21st century torture.
It come to a head last week when she bought – actually bought – a film called Eat Pray Love. It should have been called Worst Film Ever. The woman in the shop even warned her not to buy it. It’s basically two and a half hours of Julia Roberts trying to “find herself” by travelling the world after her divorce. No one she meets is remotely interesting. Nothing she does is remotely interesting. It’s pretentious (based on a book). And I’ve never felt less sympathy for a lead character in any film. And yes, I include Driller Killer.
Having said that, I did watctch the last five minutes of the directors cut on the DVD extras, just in case she got killed by Somali pirates as she sailed off into the distance at the end. No such luck.
Now the battle is on. I’ve ate like a rabbit ever since. A rabbit with an eating disorder.
I’ve also been doing extreme fitness DVD workouts each night, ditched the car to walk a couple of miles to work and back every day and even – may God have mercy on me – done pilates. Which ironically is the name of a kind of whale.
Still, she keeps on winning. I have no idea what her secret is.
She says it’s Bride Wars tonight.
I hate Friday nights.
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