I have finally succumbed to Covid. My nose is full and my brain is empty.
Photo: iStock
I’m going to tell you a story. Stick with me, for all should become clear. I have a personal trainer. I mean, there had to be a reason why I have this body, right? My secret is cake, wine, and general sloth, so getting my butt kicked by a man who can stand on his hands, plays rugby, was a former junior tennis champion, and who oozes smug health from his pores is a mitigation of sorts. Once a week I see him in person but no more because I cannot bear it; once a week I train at home...
I’m going to tell you a story. Stick with me, for all should become clear.
I have a personal trainer. I mean, there had to be a reason why I have this body, right? My secret is cake, wine, and general sloth, so getting my butt kicked by a man who can stand on his hands, plays rugby, was a former junior tennis champion, and who oozes smug health from his pores is a mitigation of sorts.
Once a week I see him in person but no more because I cannot bear it; once a week I train at home according to his instructions; the rest of the time he reminds me I shoulda, coulda been doing more. (I woulda, but I was eating cake.)
So last week I went in for my weekly one-to-one torture, and I was rather chuffed with myself because I had walked to gym – that’s 3km – after having a healthy breakfast of porridge with blueberries and cinnamon. This is progress: normally I’d add syrup and cream.
I told him all this. “Well, the walk is downhill,” he teased. “Uphill back!” I countered, not mentioning I’d take the bus.
“So you had porridge. What sort of porridge?” said he.
“Oats.”
“Gluten-free?” he asked.
I told him not to be ridiculous. I’m fine with gluten, but I did do half-milk, half-water, for health.
“Plant milk?” said he. “Cow milk,” I said, because carrots don’t have teats, Mr Muscles.
“Well, were the blueberries at least organic?” “No!” I snapped. “They’re from the supermarket – in Chernobyl.”
He had the grace to laugh before adding: “Well, you might as well have had pizza for breakfast then.”
I hope he was joking. I can’t be sure. Anyway, the reason I’m telling you this I cannot for the life of me remember… I’m guessing I expected an epiphany.
However, I started writing this column last week assuming I’d have a better idea – this is how writing sometimes works, when you start with only a notion but then write until it’s right – but my hayfever got worse and worse, until it turned out it was actually Covid.
Yes, I have finally succumbed. My nose is full and my brain is empty.
But not empty enough to know that nobody needs another story detailing My Personal Covid Journey.
