Ye shall not judge

Ye shall not judge

It has taken some time, but I have now become more acquainted with the voice that runs riot in my head. It is quite often an unruly voice that can be heard saying things that I would never in a million years think of, let alone voice out loud. I often have to tell it to shut the fuck up, and these days I can do that with a sense of authority. I don’t always win over them (the thoughts of my inner wanker), and can have periods of time where the arsehole within makes me feel like a total piece of shit. There are times though when there are things I think in my head (the normal me, not the wanker arsehole me) that are not nice. Hey – no one can be an angel all of the time.

The following isn’t going where it sounds like given the first sentence…

This morning I looked across at a half-naked man with shorts too tight to mention, water droplets running slowly down his chest and I thought to myself (like my proper thoughts) you fat bastard – how did you let yourself get in that shape.

His rolls of fat may have been attributable to some rare metabolic condition, but I highly doubted it. There stood a man, well more troll than man, who was perhaps ten years younger than myself taking his son and daughter swimming at the local sports centre and he cared little for his appearance. If I looked like him, I would happily near mortally wound myself as an excuse not to go swimming. 

The reason for the water running slowly down his chest was because of the enormity of his man boobs. They stuck out so much you could land a light aircraft on them with ease. We’re not talking gynecomastia here – I know about that and it was tortuous during my teenage years – these were moobs acquired through self-indulgence. Gluttony perhaps.

I was initially compelled to call social services or the police as I feared he may have consumed his third child, but the remaining kids seemed happy enough so I ruled this out. I cannot fully discount the possibility that the two remaining siblings hated their brother or sister so much they were glad of the meal they had become. 

The visual appearance, although disturbing early on a Sunday, was not what plagued me within. It was the impact that his size could have on his life expectancy, and the possibility that he may not be around for his children as long as he liked. I was judging the man harshly, but at the time I felt it to be a fair judgement nonetheless.

This particular thought lasted but a second, and then I went back to enjoying my son shoot me with a water cannon right in the eyes.

I cannot allow this to be a tale where I come out on top, all virtuous about my physical superiority. For whereas I am not that overweight, I still need to get myself in good shape. I have a small belly that needs to go. Ideally I’ll be able to find some muscle hiding underneath, but I doubt I’ll ever manage a six pack as I am now fifty two. Family party seven perhaps. I need to strengthen my legs massively and increase my core. I need to get in good enough shape to run an ultra marathon. I initially thought that the mental strength required to run 100k would be my biggest hurdle, but I have been through some shit so I’ll have a lot to draw on. The physical me needs to sort itself out.

To get some idea of where I need to get to, following on from what was in fact a lovely swim with my wife and son, I went to the gym. People in the gym on a Sunday lunchtime are seriously fit. Well at least in this particular gym.

I watched (not in a creepy way) not one, but two men do about 20 pull ups – and one had a massive weight between his legs (read this not in a pervy way). I used to be able to do loads of them when I was fourteen or fifteen – now I can barely do one.

There was a lady playing with massive balls like they were marshmallows (24kg or 26kg kettlebells, but balls are funnier). When I train with my PT I use 12kg or 16kg bells. Usually the 12kg ones as I assume I will fail with the heavier ones. I should try the heavier ones – I can only fail trying. Coward.

Then there was the guy who did 20 seriously quick reps on the leg extension with a weight that I discovered I could not lift even once. My legs are getting strong – but they are not seriously strong. They need to be strong to be quick.

I was quick to judge the man blob – stones in glass houses and all. He may well have been starting to take care of himself, and I hope he really is. I am not the picture of fitness that I need to be in order to run 100k. In fact I am in no position to judge others physically about anything. Anyone could be going through hardships that you cannot see on the outside, but that doesn’t mean the problems can’t manifest on the outside. I am an example of someone who has a lot going on inside that you can’t see, and what goes on in my head is not at all pleasant a lot of the time. The big guy might have already lost half his body weight, and this was the first time he had been comfortable enough to go to a public pool. Shift the paradigm Scully – you shouldn’t judge.

I wrote that last sentence and realised I just referenced myself in the third person. Twat.

And a twat I was for judging the man this morning.

I now have an added impetus to my training, and I know how far I have to go. I shall only judge myself. I know I am a harsh judge so I should be able to up my game a lot. And big man – please accept my apologies, even though you had no idea you were being judged. I was so wrong to judge others without first looking at myself.

Scully

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