I’ve been gifted an almost perfect body. Thanks Mum and Dad.

Tall, slim, broad shouldered, a reckless inexhaustible appetite, no weight gain no matter what, no hangover no matter how much wine, no medication, no illness, no worries.

I know that’s probably annoying.

It’s entirely genetics. I’m not boasting. I’ve never been a fitness fanatic or an athlete or done much to exploit my advantages. My GP down in Hobart said I would have been a very good rower, based on something he’d coincidentally tested me for. Lung capacity. Physique. Ability to wear lycra.

He wasn’t to know there was no way I would ever be a rower because I would never get up at 6am to train. That would be ridiculous.

For a while when we lived down in Hobart Robbo and I did get into athletics.

As spectators. My brother-in-law was a runner and that was our entry into athletics on a 400 metre tan track up on the Domain. We used to go to the twilight meets and thrill to the spectacle of the healthy bodies on display.

Robinson famously remarked ‘I’d do anything to have a body like that. Except train.’

Nailed it.

But as we’ve aged we’ve realised we have to do more than drink a bottle of wine every night to stay healthy. Robbo has done Pilates. I’ve done yoga. Now we both go to the PCYC gym three mornings a week, though not at 6am. That would be ridiculous.

This morning as I was running nowhere around the tan track at 10k per hour for 1k on the treadmill I wondered how many calories there were in a bottle of red wine. It’s a measure of my ignorant fortune that I’ve never wondered this before, despite consuming one million bottles of red wine. And evidence also of how boring running is.

I was burning off 100+ calories on this exercise, according to the machine. I guessed conservatively that that was about a bottle of fermented red happiness.

Back home, over coffee and profiteroles (note to self: don’t check), I discovered there were 600+ calories in a bottle of cabernet! Unbelievable. I would have to run for six kilometres every day to earn a bottle of red. And not eat anything. To the extent that I understand dieting. Which is nil.

I could probably influence this into a global fad called THE WINE DIET.

. Get up (late)

. Eat nothing

. Run for six kilometres

. Drink a bottle of wine, concentrating on happiness rather than failure. Stop crying.

. Eat nothing

. Go to bed (early) (+ dizzy)

Maybe have an ambulance on speed dial. I’m not Pete Evans but I’m similarly stupid.

I’m very grateful I’ve been gifted this lucky body. Or metabolism. I’ve got bad eyesight, skinny legs, no arse (apparently), and a brain that can no longer remember yesterday.

But today is generally the best day ever. Good health is a wonder.

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