This entry is, sort of, like the continuation of My Body: The Trash Receptacle but don’t worry, there won’t be any X-ray pictures this time.
Oh, how I used to scoff at those people who went out running for fun, “What? You’re not being chased and you’re not chasing anything? You’re running, for fun? That’s adorable.”
Silently Loudly in their faces I would judge them, telling them that unless, either of those two things are happening—chased or chasing—I’m not running, no Sir.
But Future Carlos has now become Present Carlos and has to deal with the shit that Past Carlos decided he didn’t want to take care of.
God, Past Carlos was such an idiot.
But what does all of this really mean?
Well, four years ago, my idea of a good breakfast consisted of a cigarette and a cup of coffee, très français.
But then I
quit took a break from smoking, promising myself I could pick it up again when I turn 77 and have managed to stay on the wagon for 987 days—not that I’m counting or anything.
And I turned 30, and suddenly my body had decided that it was, “No. Not having that any more. You think you can binge drink an entire weekend without repercussions. Haha, think again asstwat. You think you can start your morning without a healthy oatmeal porridge or some fucking fruit? Think again violent Diarrhea-man.”
As you can probably tell, my body is very articulate.
It’s quite an adjustment going from this very binary state of, “Am I dying or not?” Where I look at myself and conclude, “Well, I’m not dying this very second so I must be excellent,” to this world where shades of grey exist.
Turns out, there’s this enormous zone in-between those two extremes where you’re really meant to be existing called, “healthy living.”
Who could have known?
So, giving in to my body’s demands, I begun to eat more regularly and even increased my fruit and vegetable consumption of, “None A Day,” to a much better, “3 A Day.”
Granted it’s still not the recommended, “5 A Day,” but you have to start somewhere.
Curiously, if you believe a certain study than I should apparently be aiming for, “10 A Day.”
A study, by University College London, suggests that a healthy diet should include 10 portions of fruit and vegetables a day, with a majority of those portions consisting of vegetables, which was found to be four times healthier than fruit. Fruit and vegetable consumption and all-cause, cancer and CVD mortality: analysis of Health Survey for England data, Journal of Epidemiology & Community Health
It wasn’t long before I found myself exercising for the first time in my life and, to be honest, kind of enjoying it.
Yeah, I know. The things Past Carlos would have to say about this.
I’m moderately out of shape—I’d like to think I’m one of those people who are fat on the inside—for someone who is over-flexible in one direction but still can’t touch his own toes.
But after getting friction burns from one of the exercises I decided that, if I was going to continue with this, something would need to change.
So, I got myself a yoga mat.
I don’t know yoga. I don’t even know how to pretend to know yoga.
But the mat helps against friction burns and is more comfortable than the English carpeted flooring so I’m ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ happy with it.
I, of course, don’t actually exercise outside—that would expose my pathetic man-skeleton to the world’s judgemental stare—but for the sake of these pictures I wanted to do, “not-yoga.”
Besides, out of all of those yoga practitioner that stand in sunbathed grass fields being one with themselves, none of them tell you about all the bird shit you have clean away before rolling up your mat.
Why don’t you tell us about all the bird shit?
I didn’t see it and put my hand on it.
It was shades of green.
You serene bastards.
By the way, if there’s any yoga practitioner reading this I would genuinely love some advise on easy routines I could incorporate into the routine I’m already trying to build.
You give me advise and we’ll forget all about the bird shit incident, okay?