The Fat Bloke Diaries

Episode Forty-Four – Ch-ch-ch-changes

I’ve noticed changes in my body recently.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like one of those “Am I Normal” junior school education films. I’ve not suddenly discovered a lower vocal range and extra hairiness (unless you count the latest grey tufts on my toes – maybe I’m turning into an elderly hobbit), but I have noticed that my legs have exchanged much of their flab for well-defined muscle. My heart is stronger, and my lungs are working much more efficiently too. And best of all, there’s a lot less jelly on my belly. And as every school kid knows, it must be jelly ‘cause jam don’t wobble like that.

These marvellous amendments got me wondering what the extremes would be? What are our limitations as humans, as individuals? How far can we really push ourselves?

For example, if you’d asked me this time last year what was the furthest distance that my body could ever run in one go, I’d probably have said around a mile, possibly two. Now my answer is more likely to be around ten miles, absolute maximum. Not right now, not anytime soon, but one day, with proper training I could maybe get there before my heart explodes and my knees crumble like dusty old sponge cakes. Perhaps.

That would be A Good Thing were I to achieve it, yet some other less desirable changes are inevitable with age. My hair will turn greyer and my forehead will expand. My muscles and bone density will weaken. There are other things that I can easily change on my own, like my hair style (short, easily manageable), fingernail length (short, easily manageable), or amount of hair on my back (short, difficult to manage), but other things are less easily alterable.

I’ve shown that I can amend some things about myself but there are certain unalterable pieces of my physical makeup that will always remain: I have blue eyes; I’m around five foot ten; I have a small mole that I’m not going to show you unless you ply me with a decent Scotch. Barring surgery or other unpleasantnesses, these statements will be true for the rest of my life.

I can’t shrink my feet from their perfectly proportioned size 10 down to a girly size 4 but I can take (thousands of) steps to make them stronger. And with help from the contents of my bathroom cabinet, I can even make them smell a little better. But how much, for example, can I reduce my waist size? Or increase the size of my thigh muscles?

There surely has to be an optimum weight for each of us individually. Skeletal structure, height, gender, age: all of these things will have a bearing on our own perfect size, but how would we recognise it if we were ever to attain it? When losing weight, how do we know when to stop? An elite athlete will know that he’s reached his own peak performance level if he wins gold or sets a world record. With ‘normal’ people and their less lofty targets though, the finishing line is not so easily recognised. There’s no flashing neon sign saying ‘goal reached’. I’m just a chubby guy trying to lose weight. I’m never going to be anorexic, so when do I know that it’s time to stop with the lettuce and treat myself to a pie? And how do I keep at that perfect point without reverting back to the old porkiness problems? I’m a long way away from it, but I would imagine that a stable weight is even more difficult to attain deliberately than a steady downwards creeping of the scales. Wouldn’t that be a lovely problem to wrestle with?

I guess our own fitness successes ultimately depend on how much we want to take ownership and achieve our goals. We can all do much more than we think we can, but what is it that motivates us to lose weight? Or to exercise? Or to get out of bed even? Is it fear of failure? Peer pressure? Perhaps the promise of some kind of reward?

A popular theory on motivation states that unless an individual can clearly identify their own significant and meaningful reasons why they wish to attain the goal, they will never have the power to achieve it. Personally, the reason I’m becoming a shadow of my former self right now after years of failed attempts is simply that this time I actually want to succeed. That’s something that I’ve not been able to say with any real conviction before. But behind that is the further question; why do I want it more on this occasion?

I guess I’m driven by the worry of not completing my upcoming charity run now that so many people are supporting me via cash and other ways. Basically it’s a desire for praise and approval, a desperate attempt to hear ‘Well done mate’ when I finally cross the line. But these are the easy answers. Maybe there are other reasons too; reasons that I wouldn’t want to admit in public. Maybe not even to myself.

I don’t think I’ve ever written an article with so many question marks in it. But sadly, as Johnny Nash said, there are more questions than answers. Unless it’s multiple choice. Then the answer’s probably ‘D – other’.


© Shaun Finnie 2009

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