One of the most
prominent activities of last week was helping clear out a gym that had gone
into liquidation. As with all liquidations, it was a sad end to what could have
been a promising business. However, as with all cases of crisis, there were
some silver linings. For me, it was meeting up with the community of fitness
freaks who were looking to buy equipment. It was good to get to talk to people
in the know about a topic I’ve only become interested in, in the latter part of
my life.
I’ve never been
one for physical fitness. The only physical activity I enjoyed at school was
karate and when the club closed down, I ended up doing everything possible to
get off the compulsory games period (I elected to do squash and never made it
near the squash court – ended up spending pocket money on Haagen Daz cookies and
cream, clearing out a small tub by myself every week). It goes without saying
that I ballooned and I paid a hefty price for my minus levels of fitness during
Physical Training Phase (PTP) and Basic Military Training (BMT).
I got fit
enough to qualify for command rank and then proceeded to royally balloon again.
I failed the Individual Physical Fitness Proficiency Test (IPPT) several times
much to the annoyance of my commanders and so I buckled up and got fit enough
to end up two- and half-year service by passing whatever fitness measurements
were required of me.
University was
a three-year long drink fest and when I came back to Singapore to settle down,
I managed to contend with myself with the fact that I would have remedial training
(“RT”). I was, for a long stretch, unemployed and RT put money into the pocket
($10 per session) and got me fit for a certain stretch. However, in 2006, it
looked like I was going places and I decided that I no longer wanted to get involved
in the army which would only screw up my self-employed (only income). I revived
an old back injury and as things would have it, the medical officer (“MO”)
freaked when my blood pressure was taken. It was off to hospital, which then
prescribed pills for me.
My national
service career began closing in 2006, which was a period where I was able to
get decent enough freelance jobs. I ate well and drank well. Signs of physical
deterioration where already there as far back as 2005 (A GP told me to “Lose
weight and I don’t mean for cosmetic reasons” when I went to see him for a bad
back) but it was the period of 2006 onwards where the signs of too good a life
started to show.
Never thought
much of it. When people told me, I was getting fat and gross looking, I sort of
politely nodded and proceeded doing my own thing. Who cares if you’re fat and
gross looking if you can get work, feed yourself relatively well, buy a few
rounds of drinks and dare I say getting laid regularly enough? Here’s a picture
that my stepmother took of me on a family holiday in Hong Kong. The only thing
a friend could say about me was that I had a “nice one-pack.”
Me – Age 34
in 2008 with a nice single pack.
Life seemed to
continue as normal. I didn’t have much reason to discover fitness. The signs of
being obviously overweight crept in and I tried to use wardrobe tricks to make
myself a little more presentable. Stopped wearing ties because it was obvious,
I was starting to look like a sausage that was being overstuffed. Stopped
wearing tight t-shirts.
The saddest
part to this was the fact that I could no longer inherit cloths from my dad. The
old man is a prominent fashion photographer and takes extreme pride in looking presentable.
He spends good money on cloths and as I was growing up, I was one of those rare
creatures who had the good fortune of being able to take my dad’s cloths and
look trendier than most of my contemporaries. However, in his late 60s he
started going on all sorts of diets that helped him slim and remain ageless,
while I was in my mother’s words looking older than the generation before me
(her and her cousins).
Two
Generations with their better halves sometime in 2017
While I did get
away with wardrobe tricks, there were limits to what keeping your cloths lose
could hide. Here’s me with an old school friend who dropped by in 2017. If you
look closely enough, it was obvious the belly was starting to show and between
the two of us, it was a case of the Western fantasy of Asians never aging being
shattered – I look considerably older (I’m only two years older)
Both of us
were in the same school – as students
I did make an attempt
to try and control the diet. Cut out the rice at night. Attributed my weight gain
to drinking at night, which had a follow-on effect of night snacking. Managed
to go down from the 97-100kg range to the 90-kg range. However, the tummy was
still visible even with being careful about keeping my cloths lose enough, as
this November 2018 photo of me in Abu Dhabi indicates:
I was
actually dressed up to meet a VIP contact
Cutting out
rice at night had its limitations. I hovered around the 90-93kg mark all the
way up to the circuit breaker in April 2020. Here’s a picture of me in March of
2020. Kiddo decided to take a snap of me and play around with the app. What’s noticeable
is that I was clearly not suited to wearing that body hugging rugby jersey.
Was I a ball
in the days when I had to play the game?
I’ve talked
about how I’ve started moving more and watching the diet more. I generally like
feeling lighter and I do things in my late (or Mid) forties that I would have
had disdain for in my twenties and thirties – namely I exercise and check out
videos on which muscles to work.
Part of the
reason why I’m more focused on health is that I’ve figured that I’m happiest in
a semi-self-employed situation. I’m probably past the age of developing a
decent corporate career so I just focus on having enough work to get by. Having
worked in the Bistrot for over seven years, I’m also quite content with the
fact that as long as I’m relatively healthy and willing to get my hands dirty,
I should be able to find something to do.
However, there’s
only one problem with that outlook. You need to stay physically healthy. Not
only are medical cost prohibitively high (a bypass being reason enough to mortgage
the house), you don’t get paid when your sick if you’re self-employed. You
could call my new interest in ensuring the body functions at a time when it
starts to show signs of wear and tear a form of insurance. I don’t have “old
age” savings so to speak, so I need to stay healthy and able to work. When I took
a blood pressure reading in April of this year, a friend remarked on social
media that I wasn’t due for a bypass anytime soon – which a relief:
No heading
for a bypass soon – not going to have to take sell the home
It’s also a good
confidence to the ego. It’s nice to be able to wear cloths that you thought
were beyond you. I’m particularly fond of the rugby jersey:
I did play
rugby at one stage and I wasn’t the ball:
More
interestingly enough I am also not embarrassed topless, though my mother did
complain that I was posting a few too many topless shots of myself on social
media:
The One Pack
is being reduced – slowly but surely.
Based on what I’ve
been watching on TV, it looks like my fitness goals will have to change from
weight loss to toning up. Loss of muscle mass is as much as issue as having too
much fat. Of course the age of being body beautiful has long gone but it does
feel good when people notice that you are looking fitter. I do have more energy,
which in part comes from a healthier lifestyle. While I may not have had a
sudden epiphany of what I want to do to make billions, I am very sure that I
don’t want to go back to being stuck behind a desk 24/7. It’s not healthy and
its not going to benefit anyone if I kill myself. So, I do my best to limit my
office time to the work that makes me move rather than the work that makes me
fill out forms.
While I am long
past the age of being body beautiful, I am convinced that in my latter years I
need to ensure that most important of muscles remains functional. It seems to be
working just fine as my last reading a few days ago:
I have a
target to improve on this
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