What follows is the diary of my get-fit-quick plan, which combined most of the health and diet regimens ever conceived into one intensive workout schedule. My colleague Keith, a fitness fanatic, authored the program and insisted it be followed to the letter.
I wake at 6am. To make a start on the ambitious daily targets for hydration and fruit and veg intake I knock back a lazy five pints of water and a bushel of apples. I spend the next half hour in the bathroom.
I then purge all the carbohydrates from the house and bolt two glasses of robust Shiraz for the antioxidants. It clashes with the toothpaste but New Me feels invigorated. My wife says I seem groggy and keeps asking where the bread is. To put her mind at ease I do a star jump but bang my head on the bookshelf. Dazed, I laugh uncontrollably which helps strengthen the core and scares the dog.
I head to the office. As per Keith’s instructions, I get off the train from Southern Cross three stops early to jog the remainder. As the company recently shifted operations to Ballarat this is fairly tough and by Bacchus Marsh my knees hurt. Using my socks as mittens, I crawl until nightfall.
I wake up in a field, scrounge for vegetables and continue on. My suit is ruined but visual confirmation of this is difficult as the caffeine abstinence has metastasised into a stabbing pain behind my eyes.
Just after lunch I arrive at work to find everyone in the meeting I was meant to chair. Keith has stepped in and seems remarkably prepared. He says I look terrible which makes me angry, “…which can lead to stress and heart issues,” Keith adds helpfully, so I retreat to the bathroom to cry instead. There I drink a half bottle of delicious, woody antioxidants and do 200 sit-ups.
At afternoon tea I refuse a slice of the cake brought in for Cheryl’s birthday. This upsets everyone. I am asked to leave the lunchroom. Through the door Keith can be heard joking. I eat an entire iceberg lettuce and bench-press the printer.
I work standing at my desk until my boss calls me in to talk about certain “behaviours”. As I gobble vitamins and thrash out some squats I give him a quick rundown of the health kick. He asks me to go home.
I jog most of the way but the lack of carbohydrates mean I spend a lot of time just getting up again. I high-five Keith and we share a laugh before I realise I am hallucinating and alone. I blame this on a lack of antioxidants and buy a bag of Classic Red at Melton.
I arrive home delusional and accuse my wife of “hiding my shoes”, which I am still wearing. To prove my point I climb onto the roof and sleep there.
I wake up on the roof of a bus shelter. I am still in my suit from four days ago. I phone my wife. Keith answers and says she is busy. I call off the experiment.
I arrive at work to find my keycode no longer works. Through the door I can hear Keith telling jokes. Everyone is laughing.