Am I Really That Unfit?

Walking: Something Shaun Is Quite Crap At.

So a few Sundays back I decided to call The Girlfriend’s bluff, and agreed to her offer of a brisk walk in the nearby forest. It was an instinctive action, after hearing her tell the other guests at the braai we were at, what an inactive, beer-soaked man I was becoming. I obviously disagreed with this sentiment wholeheartedly, and playfully tossed an empty beer can at her head to show my disapproval.

So, once she had made what was probably meant to be a symbolic gesture, I felt almost obliged to except it, if only to save face. By this point, I had vanquished about a half a chicken, three baby lambs, and approximately seven feet of sausage. Admittedly, I had also managed to consume a healthy amount of lagers by then, so my estimation of the food I had may have been a little off.

Nevertheless, I am fairly certain about one thing though. When it comes to walking, I am surprisingly useless.

This became apparent after about 5 minutes of trooping through Newlands. Sure, it wasn’t the coolest day, and Havaianas are not the preferred footwear for hikers, but there was a gentle breeze, and we were walking at a fairly leisurely pace. I was quite alarmed then, when I literally began melting after the first kilometre. I must have easily lost about five kilos in water retention, and that was after a mere ten minutes of strolling. People began pointing and staring, as I resembled someone who had just dived into a swimming pool with his clothes on, and was now walking in the street, soaking wet.

I couldn’t quite fathom this, and began resenting the fact that I gobbled down another lamb chop seconds before we embarked on the journey, as my stomach had now decided to partake in flip flops, after encountering the rather foreign concept of exercise so soon after digesting meat.

Besides that, my legs began tightening up, and eventually dug its heels in and refused to budge, like a sulky 12 year old who has been told that he isn’t going to the beach anymore as promised, but is instead going to visit horrible Auntie Ethel with the halitosis, as she is on her last and wants to see him one last time.

Somehow, we made it to the halfway spot, a fairly lush area, filled with trees, shrubbery, and various benches and open areas for picnicking. I think I recall a stream running through the area as well, but at this point I was just about to pass out through sheer exhaustion, and had begun hallucinating. I swear I saw Kevin Spacey having a quiet sarmie on one of the benches, but The Girlfriend assures me it was just a white vagrant smoking marijuana.

I remember closing my eyes tightly for a second, as an obese, delusional woman with the tiniest pair of cheeky shorts entered our line of sight. When I opened them again, I suddenly found myself lying half naked on the lounge floor at The HQ, with an assortment of smelling salts, cooling fans and bottles of mineral water aimed at my general direction.

There are two possible explanations for this debacle then; someone either spiked my bottle of water (my money is on the old grey-haired couple who trotted passed us early in the journey, they smelled of copper and wore grey shoes.) or I actually do have the athletic stamina of a dry piece of toast.

Suffice to say, my ego has been badly bruised and my reputation considerably sullied. I shall now stick to driving for a while. Less chance of me looking like a complete wally that way.

Oakes signing off.

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