RACHEL'S COLUMNS
These articles appeared in Rachel's column every Friday in the A3 section of The Age
A fitting testament to life's bad habits
12th November 2004
In the earth's history there have been 5 major extinctions and now according to experts we are on the verge of a sixth. But this one is so vile and yet unremarkable – like one of those ugly timber barometers people have on their kitchen wall, that we don't notice until we lean back and smash our head on its pointy bits. We are on the brink of welling ourselves to death. My friend Barry has a similar approach to his health as I do to mine – by that I mean that he not only expects the worst, but is certain the worst is happening to him whenever he has the slightest symptom. So for Barry, a minor abrasion is bound to lead to gangrene and an amputation – or blurry vision is undoubtedly a brain tumor.
In an attempt to take control of his body and neurotic obsession with sickness Barry committed to a personal challenge to reduce his bodyweight and define his shape. Last week in pursuit of the body and well being he desires Barry got knocked off his push bike by "some stupid drongo" (his words) who opened his car door without looking. I'll let Barry give you the details. "I was in the bike lane, with traffic on the left of me, so I had nowhere to go except into the end of his door. YOUCH! I got a busted left index finger and a severely corked thigh and I wrote off my super new high tech racing bike!"
What really made Barry cranky was not only that he had visions of seeing his "jatz crackers" (his words) severed off and rolling under a truck, but that all these injuries were far worse than anything he'd ever sustained when he was "a fat prick" (his words also). Until last week Barry's worst bodily injury had been a bruised arse from falling off a bar stool and a nasty gash when he stabbed his own hand with a fork in an attempt to eat a steak while totally shickered.
My personal exercise trauma was more emotional than physical, but none the less debilitating. I was bent down on one knee in a deep lunge when a Lycra flasher holding a huge barbell stood directly opposite me and started doing squats. Each time his knees bent, my eyes met his groin. I looked up and sideways to avoid the hulking stretched seam of his bike shorts but had to run away when he started grunting. That night I dreamt of a chorus-line of roast pork sandwiches with shiny, lycra-covered legs doing high kicks.
Please understand I'm not suggesting that we should ignore all the health warnings; exercise, the right kind of food and how much we eat, are all vital to our health, but somewhere along the road to wellness we seem to have forfeited our brains for all things trimming, toning and defining. I believe we take out a lot of misplaced anger on our bodies. Just flick through any magazine that's about exercise and fitness and it will instruct you to "pummel your legs, beat your thighs and knead your bottom”. I've got a better idea – it's time we punish the food. Try stabbing a cheesecake or punching a donut and if that doesn't do it for you, stomp on a pile of chocolate. If the devil is everywhere, then surely he must be in chocolate!
I don't want you to believe that I write each week at random with no idea of timing or how you're all feeling – nuh uh. Since the Friday before the whole Melbourne Cup festa you haven't stopped eating have you? And that's OK, because the book of Ecclesiastes tells us that there's a time to reap and a time to sow and a time to shove whatever you want into your gob. From the first Tuesday in November we enter land of the overfed – the time of reaping and eating.
Throw off the guilty burden please – don't sit in one of those minimalistically furnished restaurants sucking on a piece of fennel drenched in balsamic vinegar while your heart is craving starch and thick sauces. Sure, keep crunching your abs in the land of the giants, but stay attached to some bad habits – it's the combination of ingredients that gives anything it's unique flavor.
