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On Monday I was sitting down to my second portion of bread and butter pudding when I caught my brother directing disapproving glances in the direction of my paunch. I know that he doesn't mean to make me feel self-conscious about my superfluous flesh; it's merely the impulses of fraternal concern that cause his oversized eyes to rest there. In much the same way, I guess, that my embarrassment causes me to respond by unconsciously stretching my t-shirt over the offending area in a cruel parody of a flat abdomen. But what, you may ask, does my premature middle-aged spread have to do with today's injury compensation article, well, read on and you will discover...
The subject then turned, none too subtly, to just how brilliant and energising my unashamedly mesomorphic brother finds the gym. I know he wasn't trying to make me feel bad, perhaps only encourage me, but I can't help but feel a little irritable and defensive when the subject inevitably turns to how much better my life would be and how much better I would feel if only I took a little exercise.
"I can think of nothing more vulgar than standing in front of a mirror lifting great big weights while grunting and pulling ugly faces," I snapped.
"You don't have to lift weights. There is always the treadmill," he replied.
"The hamster wheel, you mean. Look, I'm not going to be convinced. As far as I'm concerned gyms are horrible, sweaty hellholes - I've felt, literally, sick the two times I've been in a mood masochistic enough to make me visit. Anyway, those places make me nervous and when I get nervous I get clumsy and when I get clumsy I have accidents and when I have accidents I get hurt."
"Ok, then. Why not try going for an early morning jog? Buy a Swiss exercise ball."
At this point I told him I'd heard that, living in the city, jogging could trigger a heart attack. He responded incredulously and suddenly we found ourselves embroiled in one of those intractable disputes so common among siblings.
"What nonsense!" he said. "Show me some evidence".
Well, five seconds later, after a bit of googling on my iphone, I found it: Dr. Nicholas Mills of the University of Edinburgh, explains, "Patients exercising in a polluted area might be putting their heart under additional strain. We also found that even six hours after the one-hour exposure to air pollution, there are still adverse effects on the way blood vessels respond."
I think I can be forgiven for neglecting to read out the full text of Dr. Mills' findings: "People should exercise where and when they can. If your only choice is exercising in a setting that is not perfectly protected from air quality, then you will probably get more benefit from exercise than risk. On the other hand, if you have a choice, it's probably better to exercise away from traffic when you can."
"So what's your argument against using a Swiss ball?" he asked.
"Well," I replied smugly. "I have a friend who suffered personal injury, including broken ribs, while lying on his back lifting weights on a Swiss ball. It burst and he was lucky not to sustain more serious injury. He even considered making an injury compensation claim against his personal trainer."
Needless to say, my brother soon gave up trying to convert me to the mesomorphic tribe.
I however, after noticing the way my brother seemed to impress everyone, especially women, with his vigorous good health, went home and looked in the mirror. What I saw, caused me to blush with shame and I pulled at the hem of my t-shirt to hide my paunch - from myself.
The next day I put on some dark glasses and a hooded top and went to my local Argos to buy a Swiss ball – "Great for sit-ups" my brother had informed me.
Finally, I got it home, borrowed the foot pump from the neighbour's spacehopper and pumped like mad. I tell you, this exercise thing is great; I got into it immediately, soon worked up a nice ruddy colour and before long was out of breath - and that was only midway through the pumping.
Unfortunately, I think I got a bit carried away as pretty soon the ball had grown to the size of an adolescent elephant and then - BANG!!! - it exploded, leaving me with a temporary tinnitus-like ringing in my ears that was entirely my fault - no hope of injury compensation then.
Well, I decided, that's enough exercise for one year. And as a staunch believer in fate, my paunch will be around for some time yet.
