Day 0

Don't call it a New Year's resolution, whatever you do.  It's not.  It just happens to coincide with the New Year.  In fact, I've circumvented that problem by starting today, New Year's Eve.  Ha!

Sunday 6th July 2014 is the Bournemouth Sprint Triathlon, and I've signed up.   This wouldn't be a terribly big deal, except for the fact that as I write this, I'm a few pounds the wrong side of 15st, I have a belly that I can comfortably rest a tray of nachos on, and breasts that some girls would kill for.  I have 187 days to shape up, quite literally to sink or swim.

I don't believe in New Year's resolutions, for no reason other than everyone does them, and my stubbornness does not permit me to simply do what everyone else does.  They're a bit naff, right?  (I can use the word "naff", because no-one else has since 1994). However, it's fair to say that stubbornness is not always helpful in my life.  It often manifests as a refusal to do anything that anyone else thinks I should do, even if it's clear to me that it's in my best interests.  On top of this, I am woefully poor at taking action.  I can have the best idea in the world, but if I see even one small issue with doing it - "that might mean we won't eat dinner until late", "what if it rains that day?", "someone might think it's a stupid idea" - it'll stay just an idea.

I do, however, need to do something about a lifestyle and my body. So, step 1 in my not-a-new-years-resolution - enter a triathlon.  Done.  It's cost me 50 quid too, so I've got skin in the game.

Step 2 - figure out how to get fit for the triathlon.  I hit Google, and before too long my head is spinning with Bulletproof Coffee and hormones and enzymatic pathways, and I find my meathead radar beeping like mad and my interest flagging and wondering if it's really all worth it and wouldn't it be easier to just have a stick of celery every now and again.

So I stop reading the articles and decide that anything is better than nothing.  The family are out the house, it's pouring with rain outside.  I slip the Just Dance disk into the Wii U and spend 30 minutes dancing to Flo Rida and Cher Lloyd in my pyjamas.  I feel like a bit of a tit, but after a few minutes I actually feel great doing it.  I feel so great I decide to go out for a little jog, in the rain, down to the end of the cemetery across the road and back again.  Just to see how hard it is.  It's not too long before I start daring myself to go a little further, to run a little longer, a little faster.  Then I remember the warnings about pushing yourself too far too fast.  But I arrive home having done about half a mile, walking for a few metres in the middle, and thinking this triathlon thing is going to be a doddle. Sorted.