Gym Day 2

I actually made it for the second day at the gym.

I felt pretty good after the first session until I got to bed, sipping a nice whisky and then fell into a deep, deep sleep. I awoke at 4.30am and could not get back to sleep as I had a big presentation on my mind. I got up, showered, made tea for both of us and then departed to get to the gym ahead of plan.

I felt exhausted - probably the whisky. I did some rowing then cross training, a few weights, showered and went to the office. I have rarely felt so completely whacked out. The day ground on and finally I have returned home and feel totally exhausted and ready for bed by 9pm.

I am determined to keep this going with only respite at the weekends. I can actually feel the dormant muscles tightening but there is a long, long way to go to rid myself of the tummy. What is remarkable was that I was the only one at the gym despite the fact it is at most worst £15 per month and at best free. It's not by any stretch the most well equipped or luxurious of gyms - there are no towels, deodorants, hair gels or cotton buds but it has a few clothes pegs, a bench and shower, complete with an all pervading rancid kit smell.

What more could you ask for? For an aspiring older dad, I am finally feeling I have a chance of being reasonably fit for the baby's arrival.

The Aftermath

It's been a good 18 months since I last graced the insides of a gym, possibly longer.

I am actually pleased with the fact I made the supreme effort to go - getting up early is never an issue, it was the psychological barrier of getting over threshold of the gym's entrance. This morning I actually did it.

Seven painful minutes on the rowing machine made my chest hurt, then 30 minutes on the 'Fat Burning' program on the cross trainer was actually bearable although the tautness in my calf muscles could fire an arrow. Then I finished off on the weight machines which I thought would be easy but it actually felt like Superman pushing a train. I managed to make it back to the changing room before collapsing, avoiding passing out in front of the pretty blond girl on the running nachine by a whisker. I was always super-organised when I used to gym regularly and I was horrified to find I was several items short in my wash bag including my favourite body wash and toothpaste (I always have a quick shower and brush my teeth before I go to the gym out of courtesy to others, thankfully). So I have already given myself one stern warning for the day, next one is a potential yellow card and I will have to stand in the car park for 10 minutes.

There is a refreshing short walk across the car park from the gym to the office which helps cool you down - that's a bonus as when I start to sweat it takes a while to stop. However, climbing two flights of stairs and greeting people through gritted teeth was hard - the lift looks a better bet in the future but that is surely giving in to age. Sitting at my desk, I am waiting for the pain to start but apart from a rawness in the chest akin to breathing in noxious fumes, I actually feel ok if tired, although I slept like a baby last night.

My wife and I have been remiss about going to ante-natal classes and our discussion last night centred round this - what if there is no time between now and the end of February to go? When I tried to allay her fears by saying, 'How hard can it be?' she turned her back and huffed. Good point, well made.

I have been reading little books about the subject of men and pregnancy but none have really given the kind of training I need. The truth is, while I have cleared up umpteen messes after children and animals, I have not changed a nappy. I have winded babies before now but I know nothing of the regiment and routine required. These are some of the things I fear. What if I forget to feed the baby or fail to wake up when it's crying? What if I put the nappy on wonkily? What if the milk is too cool? What if the dogs take a dislike to it or get jealous? What if Wales lose on Saturday?

You get my point? I haven't yet acclimatised myself to the rigours of fatherhood and I can feel it heading at me like an unstoppable freight train.

Pah! If I can summon the will power to get back in the gym, I can crack this fatherhood business. Can't I?

Off To The Gym I Shall Go?

With steely determination, I managed to overcome the invisible bungee rope that was preventing me making the short journey across the carpark to the gym and I signed on.

There were two immediate positives, apart from feeling as if I had finally shown some will power. The first was that as the gym is changing hands and the new owners will take over in January, so I have free membership up until they call me in order to extract some money. The second piece of good news was that my blood pressure was pretty much normal. I say this with a small caveat as it took 3 readings to get there and some special breathing techniques the chap talked me through. I felt as if I could beat a lie-detector by the end of it.

So tomorrow morning is D-Day. I shall rise smartly at 5.30am and be on my way by 6.00am to get to the gym by 7.00am and be at the office by 8.30am after an hour's refreshing exercise (writer's euphemism for being knackered). A foolproof plan?

As I have had a full day in the office, my wife went for a routine scan with her Mum today. The news was good - Mum and baby are doing fine and we have a another appointment for two weeks time. After having disappointments with scans a year ago and earlier, I still have butterflies before them - and today was worse by knowing my wife was on her own.

The most gratifying scan to date was the Nuchal Translucency screening test which uses a combination of many factors from actual measurements of the foetus' nuchal membrane at the nape of the neck and some other factors such as age, weight etc of the mum and dad plus certain readings of the blood - it is all run through a complicated computer program and out pops effectively the odds of the baby having Down's Syndrome. In our case, despite our combined age, the odds were actually in the normal range which was huge relief.

In the multifarious fears, anxieties and excitements I have of being a dad at 50, this was perhaps one of the biggest. We desperately want a child, but our fear would be that we could not provide the kind of long term parenting required for a baby with Down's Syndrome - and I have picture in my mind of being too geriatric to look after such a child when they would need us most. To know that our odds were high would have tested every belief my wife and I have - we are both very against abortion for every reason barring medical and psychological (it's difficult to be hard and fast but for abortion for lifestyle is to my mind an abomination). This fear brings home the awesome duty of responsibility parenting comes with and why it is more acute for older parents, who naturally have a higher risk of the baby having the condition.

Away from the lighter side of being an older dad - this is the kind of serious issue that age brings. My wife and I would hate to deny anyone (and I include an unborn child) the chance of life but we would not want condemn our baby to a life with older parents who actually would need as much care and attention as them in too few years. That alone would be a very selfish act.

The next dilemma in my mind is whether I actually go to the gym tomorrow morning.

To Gym or Not?

It doesn't matter what shape you are if you are a young or, dare I say it, normal aged dad.

If you are an older dad-to-be, like me, then it's going to be pretty important not to look old and fat or unfit. If nothing else, I have a morbid fear that I will not be able to pick my child up and carry it around for fear of passing out due to over-exertion. I also fear not being able to kick or bowl a ball for fear of aggravating an arthritic joint. I also fear turning up at the schoolyard to collect my child and all the Yummy Mummies asking me how old my grandson is.

I have always been a pretty active uncle and I naturally look younger than I am. As I turned 50, everybody has gasped and thought I was no more than 40. The fact is that I know my age and I know my limitations. I also know that I have put on weight in the last year and when I went swimming with my nephew on the weekend, I felt very concious of my tummy.

I am also the sort of person for whom dieting is not the way to lose weight. For one, I love my food and drink so it is a huge battle. Second, I have no staying power. But, thirdly and most importantly, I need to exercise or else my body soon realises what I am trying to do and deviously changes its metabolism and causes weight to reappear even though I am on a single lettuce leaf and a bowl of steam per day. I used to play sport a lot - rugby, cricket - and now I do the occassional golf. The gym is the only way forward for me.

They say that certain fat you store when you are young is never ever gotten rid of and it is the one thing I have proven in my life to be really true. I can train every workday for an hour or more and drive myself senseless and I will always retain that small but annoying shape of a person who has a problem with their weight. The only six pack I will ever get is from the beer shelf in the supermarket. But at least I will fit nicely into my clothes and feel well.

So today is dilemma day. Do I go and join the gym across the road from the office for a mere £15 per month or do I condemn my baby to seeing a fat and old father? It will be a battle of wills, between a tuna baguette and the short stroll to sign up at lunchtime. Then it will be the discipline of getting up at sparrow's fart each day and getting to the gym early as I have an hour and 15 minutes drive to the office each morning. I have done it all before and it worked. But the will power seems to be lacking just know.

Do I go or not? Find out tomorrow.