Village Squire, 1978-09, Page 41P.S. /()\
Gasp! Puff! Wheeze!
BY KEITH ROULSTON
I ache all over.
Why is it that getting in good shape so
you can live longer can almost kill you? I
got shamed recently by a number of events
into deciding something had to be done
about the shortness of breath and
slackening of muscle tone that has started
to creep up on me. Anybody who knows me
laughs at the suggestion of being
overweight but even skinny people can be
gut of shape.
There I was watching all those healthy,
beautifully -formed athletes putting out
their best at the Commonwealth games,
and I nearly winded myself getting up to go
to the fridge for another snack. After about
three days of watching the exploits of
Graham Smith or the gorgeous Diane
Jones-Konihowski the guilt began to come
out. I remembered when I used to run and
jump myself. I remember when I used to
play basketball for hours non-stop. I
remembered the lithe quick movements I
used to make on the badminton courts. My
mind told me it was only yesterday. My
body told me it was before the millenium.
Really, I said to myself, I must do
something about this. I've got to start an
exercise program. Tomorrow. Of course
the nice thing about tomorrow is that it
never comes and so neither did the
exercise.
The second trigger was being shamed by
some friends who are really into the fitness
"thing". Both are actors. Now the general
public doesn't think of actors as being
particularly health nuts. I mean the view of
your neighbour probably is that acting is a
pretty unphysical thing to do. You just get
up there on stage and walk around and say
a few words. It's no easy way to make a
living because it takes talent (including the
talent to survive weeks and months on end
when there's no paycheque coming in) but
certainly it's not physically demanding like
say farming, or working on an assembly
line.
Of course to anyone close to theatre the
fallacy of such opinions is quickly evident.'
Many actors seem to be as concerned about
physical training as Olympic athletes. The
ladies, of course, are worried about their
trim figures if nothing else but all actors
are aware of the top physical condition
their job requires working long hours,
performing stunts that can require them to
say fall over backwards in a broken chair 25
times during a day of rehearsal. Because of
this many of them frequent the health food
stores and take on rigorous training
programs.
This for a couple of my actor friends has
meant running. One actor is so dedicated
PG. 40 VILLAGE SQUIRE/SEPTEMBER 1978.
to it that he takes part in marathon races.
The other isn't quite up to that stage but
still runs six or seven miles a day. There
they are. with rock hard muscles and trim
physique and there I was wheezing and
gasping after taking one flight of stairs,
starting to sag over the top of my belt.
Something had to be done.
Well I finally got at it last week. 1 got up
bright and early in the morning and did a
few exercises on the Iivingroom rug. It
used to be the kind of thing I'd whip off in
seconds hardly straining myself. But
what's this? I must have grown because I
couldn't touch my toes. How about
pushups? I used to be good at those. One,
two, gasp, three. gasp, gasp. four. gasp.
pant. gasp. groan. five, collapse, wheeze.
gasp. groan.
Good heavens, I knew I was getting in
bad shape but not this bad. Oh well. I knew
it wouldn't be easy. Rest a while then get
up and go for a run. The country is a great
place for a run. fresh air, no crowds, no
neighbours to think you've gone out of your
ruddy mind.
Back I went along the back lane that runs
through the fields to the river, the birds
singing and the wind wafting sweet smells
through the morning air. This would be an
enjoyment. It was. for the first 100 yards
(whoops, that's supposed to be meters
these days isn't it). Then it was wheeze,
gasp, groan and snort for the rest of the
way. The run slowed to a jog and more like
a fast walk at times. Still I made it without
collapsing and that, in itself seemed like an
achievement for the first day. And the pain
was over for a day at least. Or so I thought.
The next morning it came time to climb
out of bed and I couldn't move. Every
muscle, every bone, every cell of my body
seemed to hurt. Obviously I'd used
muscles I didn't know I had, and I'd just as
soon not have been reminded I had them.
Valiantly, I went through the whole
routine again that day, once I'd pried
myself out of the bed and managed
somehow to get my clothes on. But for the
rest of the day I limped around like
someone who'd just gotten out of traction
the day before. When anyone asked me
what was wrong I had to give the idiotic
answer that I was just getting in shape.
I guess I'll make it, if I can just keep
crawling out of bed and going through that
pain a little while longer, but sometimes I
wonder if it wouldn't be better to just relax
and enjoy it on my downhill path to
physical unfitness. If that 60 -year-old
Swede wants to be more fit than me, why
not let him. It would be easier to go soft in
front of the television set watching others
prove their strength.
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