Wednesday 5 April 2023

Fathering fit

People talk about being fighting fit but other than an absolutely feeble scuffle in my teens that makes Grant v Firth in Bridget Jones’ Diary look like the Rumble in the Jungle I’ve never had to consult the Queensberry Rules, or a martial code of any description. It may be that I’ve seen more than my fair share of people that raise their fists in anger but my perception is that fighting is going out of fashion. When I was a baby barrister my diary was chock-a-block with pub punch ups; nowadays my staple diet is far seedier and I sometimes long for a good honest split lip and black eye. 

So whatever men are getting fit for now it’s not for having it out in the garden of the Dog & Duck. My sense is it’s wellbeing and the dismal pursuit of a physique to match Andrew Tate’s. If only men would learn that the dad bod has achieved iconic status for a reason. Contrary to popular male belief not all women swoon at the sight of ripped torsos, bulging biceps and rock hard calves. 

This is because most women are familiar with an immutable truth which is that any man that has achieved physical perfection comes with at least one and sometimes all three of the following fatal character flaws: i. Irredeemable dullness 
ii. Incurable narcissism 
iii. Insatiable appetite 
Most people of perception realise these are in fact all sides of the same triangle. Thor might have a surprisingly good sense of humour, really care about other people and be a one woman man. He’s also not real. 

Which brings me to my actual point which is that the most important thing I’ve got fit for is fathering. To say it has been belated achievement is an understatement. One of the many cruelties that early parenthood inflicts new on parents is that it annihilates physical fitness. If you have got time to keep fit with a new baby in the house that’s because somebody else is caring for the new baby in the house. For the rest, watch as the hours of sleep you lose at night transmute by some hideous alchemy into inches added to your waist. 

There are a number of things I regret about not having my first kid at 20. Chief is the fact that my eldest would now be 23 and, ostensibly at least, standing on his own two feet. But hot on its heels is the vigour I have squandered. Nothing serves to remind one that age is absolutely not just a number than having a kickabout with a gaggle of under 10s. Young boys benefit from young dads and in the absence of youth they need energy. 

There’s a lot of advice one can give parents of sons but the best advice is that they need a hell of a lot of running, like dogs. It’s not by chance that boys boarding schools lay on 2 hours of sport a day, an unexercised boy will exercise your patience and needle your nerves like nobody’s business. 

The problem with exercise, in case you hadn’t noticed, is that it’s boring, unpleasant and time consuming. At least that is until you find your thing. Just as there is a person for everyone I truly believe that there is an exercise for everyone. Being picked last for football at school is a sure-fire way of dissuading many from realising that curling, scuba diving, samba dancing or speed walking are in fact their thing. 

I’ve ridden a bicycle since university. Not for fitness but for transport. Consequently, when Spin broke free from Manhattan fitness studios to end up in London basements I thought what a mug’s game to pay through the nose to ride a bike that doesn’t go anywhere. 

Well, let me tell you I am the mug because spin is amazing. You know when you’ve found your thing when exercise doesn’t feel like work it feels like enjoyment. Turns out the dark, some disco, and flashing lights is all I needed to put the brakes on mid-life collapse. Having trudged my way around the Hackney Half Marathon last year I’ve realised that solitary exercise is not for me. There is something about collective non-competitive exercise that provides a jolt of fellow feeling to go with your fitness kick. 

If you’re having your first child don’t forget to get fit for fathering and remember it’s a marathon not a sprint.

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