I went to the gym
With a workout in mind
I picked up a medicine ball
It was so heavy
Tried to hold it away from me
But I dropped it
Nearly broke my foot
Medicine ball
What a stupid name
For a foot killer ball
Bad medicine ball
Bad medicine
I have never had to diet that much in my lifetime
up to the age of forty, my weight was constant
despite whatever I ate or drank
I developed a love for bread and potatoes
it was a lot of fun for a while
until my weight started to creep up slowly
I took up running to burn off some extra calories
and I briefly cut out bread and potatoes to get my weight back down
then it stayed constant for a long time
well more or less constant
I would always come back from vacations a few pounds heavier
a week of light eating got it back down to ‘normal’
my love affair with bread and potatoes resumed
around the age of fifty, I developed severe knee pain
my doctor told me to give up running completely
so I bought a bike and hit the road
I was soon cycling 100 miles a week
I was burning off a lot of calories from intense cycling
so much that I could eat and drink anything I wanted without weight gain
bread and potatoes became my lovers of choice
I sustained this lifestyle for more than a decade
my bread and potatoes love fair continued
until I got Covid with follow-on complications
never-ending cycles of colds, sinus infections, and bronchitis ensued
I had no energy and impaired breathing for over three months
I fell back on my comfort food of bread and potatoes
they told me not to worry and just eat more of them
it was so bad that I was unable to get on my bike
without regular exercising and my weight crept up
the bread and potatoes consoled me daily
eventually, I got well enough to start cycling again
it took a few months to get back into my cycling routine
I was not happy with my heavier weight
and my cycling performance was well below par
I had a long and serious chat with the bread and potatoes
they were not happy about breaking up our relationship
they cried and cried as I left them unconsumed on my plate
I got hooked on weight loss and my cycling performance improved
I set myself a goal to drop below my pre-covid weight
but my body refused to cooperate and I hit a plateau
the bread and potatoes kept calling me from the pantry
I was somehow able to resist their efforts to lure me back into their arms
it took a sustained effort of dieting and exercise to crawl off that weight plateau
the bread and potatoes keep winking at me
but the celery and peppers are my new lovers
I imagine they have fights over me in the pantry
When I ride my bike
I can taste the wind
The scenery is closer
Animals are all around
When I ride my bike
Passing cyclists smile
I am energized
I feel sorry for motorists
When I ride my bike
Time goes slower
Pedestrians say hello
I love cycling
When I ride my bike
My computer talks to me
Tells me when to eat and drink
Shows me how fast I am going
When I ride my bike
Sometimes I get a puncture
But I carry tools and spares
Soon I get going again
When I ride my bike
I wear a tight cycling jersey
Its full of logos and bright colors
I pretend it helps me go faster
When I ride my bike
I have flashing lights front and back
To warn motorists of my presence
But they still try to run me over
When I ride my bike
Flies crash into my face
Occasionally I swallow one
They don’t taste good
The middle aged man walks the halls in banner painted lycra
Wheeling his bright red bicycle to the elevator
His clumpy cleated shoes tap dance on the tiled floor
Announcing his presence loudly
waiting for the elevator
Leaning on his two wheeled walking stick
This handicapped walker is like a fish out of water
Speeding downward in the elevator
Emerging at ground level into the parking lot
Checking his back pocket for keys and sugar laden snacks
A strong leg is thrown over the cross bar
Straddling the tamed beast for a ceremonial moment
Adjusting the visor on his helmeted head
Cranking the left pedal backwards
Until his foot is near the ground
A resounding click welds his shoe to the pedal
A slight backward crank primes his muscles for takeoff
The beast lunches forward as his right shoe clicks in
Man and bicycle are now welded together in unison
Hands push down on the odd shaped bars
Palms resting on the hoods of the infrequently used brake levers
Padded shorts rise skyward to meet the ridiculously high razor blade seat
Arms stretched out into the wind
A small computer on the handlebar displays his progress
Speed and heart rate rise in unison
While pedal rpms stay constant
Gear changes are fully electronic on this high tech machine
Every nut and bolt has been trimmed for weight
The featherlight carbon fibre frame mimics airplane wings
Slipping through the reluctant air softly
The middle aged man flies low at 25mph
His skin tight costume refuses to flap in the wind
It will be a short 30 mile ride today
The computer reminds him to hydrate every 15 minutes
And to eat something every hour
He obeys all the computer commands
Resembling an android caught up in an exercise video
At the end of the ride he hits finish on the bike computer
Now back in control of his own life he sighs in relief
The sweaty middle aged man walks back along the halls
Dripping perspiration along the corridor
Passing residents nod either in admiration or disapproval
Upon arrival back home he consults his home computer
Which has monitored every parameter of his ride
Via a link to his bike computer
It tells him is effort level is way too low
He needs to pedal harder and longer
He nods in acceptance of the computer instructions
Lycra goes in the washing machine for a tumble
While he naps and dreams of riding in the Tour de France
His computer wakes him up
He briefly questions why he rides this bike at all
The home computer reminds him he must try harder tomorrow
He has had enough
The hammer pounds the home computer
Leaving debris allover the floor
Its a short walk to his beloved bike
The bike computer is switched off
Saved from the fate of the hammer
The next day
The middle aged man walks the halls in banner painted lycra
Wheeling his bright red bicycle to the elevator
He rides his usual path without data reporting instruments
Riding the rest of the day at his own pace
Stopping for lunch by a river
Dropping his bike computer into the deep water
Freedom at last
Coming home alone
No computer to interrogate him
No data analysis
No speed, cadence, distance, power and heart rate tracking
From now on its just him and his bike on the open road
Back to old school cycling
No more data driven decisions
Riding by instinct from now on
He rides in the Tour de France nightly in his dreams
The other riders are in awe of his riding style
As he speeds up the mountain
Leaving them for dust
They all ask their computers for instructions to catch him up
But their computers have no answers
They do not know how to compete with a non-data driven human
The middle aged ghost rider wins the Tour de France nightly
I finally figured out why eating home made salad makes you thin
Its not just the fact that they are low in calories
Its the Herculean effort involved in making them
From shopping
Through chopping
Onto chomping
You burn more calories than you consume
Lets kick it up a notch
Leave the car at home
Jog to the supermarket
Skip the line of shopping carts
Carry a basket in each hand
Walk down every aisle ten times
Do not loiter near the prepared salad section
Buy whole vegetables
The bigger and dirtier the better
Walk back the long way with heavy bags
Do bicep curls all the way home
Avoid the Covid capsule elevator
Haul those grocery bags up 14 flights of stairs
Put all 79 items in the fridge
For a few minutes
Then take them all out again
Spend hours scrubbing off all that dirt
Then scrub some more to be sure
Play loud rock music while you fast chop
Use every knife and cutting board you own
Make a huge mess in the kitchen
Dress that salad lightly
No more than five molecules of oil in the vinegar
Serve your salad with pride
Work those jaw muscles hard
Chew every mouthful 26 times
Cut out the dishwasher
Clean everything by hand
To be sure you missed nothing
Clean everything a second time
Dry the dishes by hand
Put everything away one piece at a time
Now mop the kitchen floor by hand
By now you should be exhausted
As you drift off to sleep
Try not to dream of fast food
Cheeky Monkey Poetry 