Sunday, October 08, 2006
don't attack your heart and it won't attack you...
Well I’m back…and I’m not happy about it.
Ten days lying on the sand at Sunshine Beach, soaking up the beneficial UV radiation (sans block-out), re-acquainting myself with the art of riding a long board and taking long peeks at the topless chicks from behind my sunglasses has steeled my resolve to become retired as soon as possible.
I will never, ever, ever understand those people who say ‘Oh no…I could never give up working; I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.’ Me…I could give up tomorrow and trade it all for a shack on the beach. Well, maybe not a shack in the strict sense of the word…but certainly for an architect-designed dream-house perched on the headland, 180-degree ocean views, satellite TV with a 300cm projector-screen, infinity pool, ducted air-conditioning and a dune-buggy in the garage.
Like the one I’ve reluctantly just left to come back here and resume my fulfilling career for…
Anyway…mustn’t complain; I’m feeling marvellous for now, all tanned-up, blacker than some of my World Vision Spades and still at least two lousy work days away from wiping the holiday smile from my temporarily crease-ridden face.
AND…and…I’ve lost 4kgs as a result of the punishing exercise programme (a 90-minute walk on the beach every morning) initiated after catching a reflected glimpse of myself in a shop-window on the first day.
Which brings me to the point of this piece; in my entire life, or what has so far passed for it, I have NEVER felt the supposed high that some athletes claim they get from doing exercise.
Not even close.
I sometimes get a craving for a cigarette during exercise but I never get the dopamine-rush that so many gym-junkies sometimes wank on about.
I walked briskly on the sand every morning, sometimes on hard sand, sometimes on soft sand…never less than 90 minutes, once for nearly 2 hours. I felt pain, cramp, nausea, headache and a weird burning sensation as my soft-tissue disintegrated under the workload BUT NOT ONCE did I experience anything even remotely resembling pleasure from the ordeal.
Sure, I slept like a baby each night and it’s great to lose a notch on my belt but it would be some stretch of the imagination to say that I enjoyed any of it.
And I have a pretty good imagination…