Exercise

Exercise

“How much exercise do you do a week?” the doctor asked looking over his glasses at me.

“Um…” I cough into my hand and try to think past the cold I’ve actually come about. “Not much I guess. I help run a market garden.” I smile and wish I were anywhere else. I know where this is going.

“Perhaps this year you could lose some weight.”

Ugh! Why did every doctor want me to drop a few pounds? What had that got to do with a cold? And before you answer I am aware that it lowers the immune system but really I don’t see why he would always bring it up. I’m only ill every now and then. In fact I don’t think I’ve sat in the chair for a year and a half.

Instead of becoming indignant I cough and mumble, “I’ll try.”

He smiles and says, “A more exercise would help.”

I just look at him. This man has no concept of what a market garden is. A half-acre of land that periodically will have to be dug, both by hand and by machine. Then there is the continual weeding and the fact it is an ever-lasting battle to keep the plants free from pests. Nor do I mention that the land is on a slope and well away from the house, so one day’s work can give a hell of a workout. After every winter the first days of cultivation will leave me sore for days.

“Of course doctor,” is all I say.

He glances at me and then turns and taps on the computer. He looks up and seems surprised that I haven’t left. “Is there anything else?”

“My cold?” I snuffle.

For a moment his brow furrows and he give me that indulgent look that only doctors and dentists can. “It is a cold. Go home and drink fluids, take paracetamol to keep your temperature down.”

And that is it, I’m dismissed. Yet still I say thank you as I leave. I get outside and breathe deeply. Doctor’s surgeries are very stuffy and you know what, I think I’m actually feeling a little better. Coughing, I walk away and back to the car. Exercise… Maybe this year I won’t use the rotavator. Maybe I will hand dig the lot. Maybe…