The Fat Bloke Diaries

 

Episode Fifty-Three – Variations on a Theme

I’m bored with running. It’s dull.

There we go, I’ve said it. I’ve always known it to be true, but while I had a goal, a fund-raising run for the benefit of others to keep me going, I could force myself into my jogging shoes and out of the house. Without that target though, I’m back to surfing the sofa. Horizontally.

I’ve got to get back into exercising again. I have to hold the weight at bay. Eating relatively healthily seems to be steadying the scales at the moment, but if I want to lose any more unwanted blubber then I’ll have to burn it off. And although the blowtorch option has seemed tempting a few times, I know that in reality it will come down to hard work. It always does.

But since I have no motivation to put my running shoes on at the moment, I’ll have to find something else to do. And although I can be a master of procrastination I did at least manage to exercise my mouse finger enough to search for some new and exciting ways of fighting the flab. I searched the internet to see how many calories various forms of exercise expend.

So what do I enjoy doing? Well, I’m a writer, I write. That apparently uses 144 calories per hour (henceforth referred to as cph), the same as reading a book, or talking on the phone. Or watching TV. It’s only marginally more than being asleep (126 cph) but it’s a start.

I like playing guitar too, though I’ve never been any good. You don’t use extra calories for musical ability though, so that seems worthwhile at 432 calories. That’s more than ten pin bowling and surfing. The guitarists they measured must have been more Pete Townshend or Wilko Johnson than Julian Bream, I’d guess (score five points for each of these that you’ve heard of). And who says that attending a concert doesn’t count? An hour in a mosh pit apparently spends more calories than two hours playing snooker. It certainly gets you more sweaty.

Playing golf is something that I also enjoy (despite last week’s admission), and at 827 cph it seems a reasonably active pursuit. That figure drops dramatically if I choose to ride a buggy rather than carry my clubs by the way. But as that’s something that’s reserved for old men, golfers with false legs and corporate Americans, it won’t be happening anytime soon. Unless I lose a leg.

I don’t know how many calories sky-diving or base-jumping burn, but I know that just thinking about these makes my trousers several pounds heavier. They’re never going to happen And although an hour of skipping (or ‘jumping rope’ as it’s now known) would see of an incredible 1368 calories, it’s still skipping. Not very manly. Here in Barnsley they’d string me up with my own rope.

After months of practice the stairs at work are getting easier on my daily eight-flight hike, and at 1,227 cph, climbing them is apparently hugely beneficial. Sure, I’m still out of breath when I reach my desk but it’s doable now. But I’m still nowhere near the level of the participants in the annual Empire State Building Run-Up event. They sprint up 1,576 steps to the 86th floor. I’m not sure how they go about overtaking though; I would have thought that pole position would be a definite advantage. Again, this is something that I’ll remain a stranger to.

A gentle stroll in the country apparently logs 378 cph. That doesn’t sound like much of a return compared to the 954 for an hour of gentle jogging or more vigorous static cycling. These are among the higher rated things that I could do, but I’m looking for something exciting, something that raises my heart rate and gets me a little sweaty but is fun.

There’s one activity that immediately springs to mind here, and I certainly enjoy it as much as the next man or woman. Sex burns off an impressive 576 calories per hour, apparently. I’m presuming that these must include an active partner. But all I could find on the activity charts was a catch all ‘sexual activity’. How can a vigorous bout of swinging from the chandelier while dressed in a latex Bananaman outfit be comparable with placidly lying back and thinking of England? Still, it’s a better way of burning those 576 than showering, which apparently burns the same. That’s some vigorous scrubbing there. Maybe if I combined the two? And an hour of foreplay apparently can add another 198 to the total. Put them all together and I could effectively get the chocolate sauce calory-free.

But sixty whole minutes each? I’m not as young as I used to be. I think I’ve found something that’s more likely to happen though. Shopping is a highly respectable 323 cph. And as all you ladies know, you can keep on shopping for hours….


(Please note: all figures here are taken from the internet, so their accuracy is debatable at best. And they all surmise that the person doing the activity is a fat bloke. Your personal numbers may vary considerably, but they do show a relative comparison between activities.)


© Shaun Finnie 2009
 

 

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