It’s the gradual deterioration that fools us. Let’s face it, if you put on 10 kg overnight you’d get up in the morning, look in the mirror and think, ‘Oh lord, I’m a pig!’ and do something about it.
But going up by half a kilo a month (or less), is a problem. You see, nothing is blatantly obvious and so we can hold onto that subconscious belief that this gradual change is not our fault, it’s the way things are and it’s bound to get better if we ignore it. You know what I’m talking about. The change from: ‘Wow, these trousers are a little tight,’ to the ‘Well, I’ll go up one size for comfort sake until I can get around to doing something about it,’ kind of change.
The only problem is, a year down the line nothing has changed except those comfort trousers are now way too tight and you’ve gained the 10 kg.
‘Okay,’ you tell yourself, ‘one more set of slightly bigger comfort trousers with an extra-large T-shirt and then, that’s it!’ We stand in front of the mirror and think to ourselves, ‘Come on, it’s not too bad, for someone of my age, with big bones and a slow metabolism and …’ How many more excuses can we come up with?
And so it goes until one day, aged 50-something, you realise that putting on a pair of socks and breathing at the same time have now become impossible. You realise the biggest challenges in life are now all related to your body – getting out of bed with those bad knees, standing up with that sore back, walking up stairs, opening the jam jar. You find yourself hoping that medical science will make some leaps and bounds in the rejuvenating pill department.
You’re engrossed by TV ads that tell you to ‘take this pill and lose the fat,’ or ‘Plug in this appliance, switch on and shock your abs into shape.’ You want to believe that by exercising your wallet you can look like the 20-something-year-old body builder in the ad.
In fact, money is no object, as long as getting into shape does not mean having to get off your couch. Anyway, picking up a cell phone, dialing, talking, reaching around to your back pocket and digging out a credit card is exercise.
And who are you going to blame when the pills and the Elizabethan shock therapy treatments don’t really live up to the advertised promise? When the creams, lubes, lotions and poultices you’ve applied before bedtime have no effect, when the secret roots from the Amazon and the oil squeezed from a bulb only known to San trackers in Namibia have squeezed the fat from your bank account, but done nothing for your body?
Blame it on yourself, you Old Fart, and welcome to the Old Farts Club. Yes, we’ve all been there, done that and have the T-shirt that doesn’t fit anymore, but we can do something about it.
All it takes is willpower and a plan. This book is your chance to follow the plan and reading it will give you the willpower to join the Old Farts Club.