Reality Bites.

Reality Bites.

Self-deception, those little white lies we tell ourselves to help us get through the day. You know the ones, we all say them; I am still a 32 waist it’s just the jeans that shrunk; 30 is the new 20; I swear this is my last fag ever; the list goes on and on. But then truth kicks in the door, call you a fat troll, sticks a pack of twenty B+H in your mouth and makes you do the wiggle dance down the high street in front of a pack of laughing
school girls.

And where has the mixed metaphor filled spew of psychobabble sprung from you may ask dear reader? Well last week I had my own run in with self-deception and it all started with last week’s blog. I knew I had put a little weight on over Christmas, but hey, I told myself it’s only a couple of pounds. A wee bit of junk for my trunk. Nothing that I could not shift in a week or so in January with a bit of hard work. Then as part of the Blog I thought it would be a great (idea) to post my weight to help motivated me into morning runs and workouts. It turns out that it was not so much a wee bit of junk but a whole attic full. I had put on in just 3 weeks a whopping 11kgs, that’s 1.7 stone or a small child. Give that the gym was closed do not think it is muscle. I had gone from a lean, mean, chiselled and jacked (what was that about little white lies) 105kg to a decidedly softer 116Kgs. So how did I react? Not well to be honest? There were a few tears, I am a Wallace after all and we are a pretty vain lot. I told myself another little white lie to help me get by.  “Everyone puts on this sort of weight over Christmas, Its normal I am sure it will come off just as quick”. This little bit of untruth was flattened the next day when I popped into the gym in Covent Garden for a lunch time work out, and was confronted with a scene of such homo-eroticism that a 20 screen multiplex showing
nothing but Spartacus and the 300 could not compare. The changing rooms were awash with nothing but six packs and bulging biceps that would make a men’s health cover model (or even a runner up hey Pete!) weep.

I came to the conclusion that in the words of the great Rowdy Roddy Pipper “it time for a reality check”. I
am 33 years of age, the worse shape I have been in for 10 years, over-weight, asthmatic with a beautiful wife who makes the most amazing muffins and cakes. So what to do what to do, should I give up on Tough Mudder and resign myself to a life of ass to couch and stuffing my face with delicious blueberry and white chocolate muffins?

Hell No! In less than 24 hours of setting up last week’s blog we had over £250 donated to Cancer Research, friends rallied around and sent messages of love and support for the silly Wallace Boys.. It was the messages from you all last week that got my lazy ass out of bed for 5am runs. It was your messages that helped motivated me to evening gym sessions and then back up for runs the next morning. So thank you all, I refuse to let you down. I will get fitter. I will get stronger. I will get in shape. I will finish the Tough Mudder course, and I will finish in front of Pete “the Machine” Wallace (ok reaching there). Oh and it helps that Mrs Wallace ensures that the extra poundage means there is just more of me to love.

Next week once the Machine gets back from his 4 days training in the Alps (apparently it all went a little
Rocky 4) we should have a Post from the other younger fitter Wallace brother for your reading pleasure.
Anyhow here are the big guys stats after 1 week of training

Stats 9 January 2012
Weight 114 Kg
Run time and distance 5.5km 32mins (managed to jog it all
this morning no walking yay)
Chin Ups 5
unassisted
Days to Tough Mudder 125