Sit Less. Move more.

The 4 Muskateers. Sue and Andy join us biking from Caen to La Rochelle

Highlight of the week: The weather regresses towards the mean. The sun comes out and the wind abates. A long bike ride to Malton in sunshine perks me up.

Lowlight of the week: Both of my feet grumble with every step I take. Morton’s neuromas temper my mood.

Maximum temperature: 21 degrees Celsius

Rainfall: Nominal

Our bodies were designed for previous times. Feast and famine. In the dry, summer months, our hunter gatherer genes are activated. An epigenetic thing I gather. Summer days are long. We hunt. We gather. We eat. We thrive. Build muscle. Lay down fat stores. Move more. Sit less. All in anticipation of the lean months ahead. Ready to hunker down in the short, cold winter days. Then, we eek out our reserves. Live off berries and stored goods. Our bodies adapt. They slow down. Burn less energy. Sleep more. Sit more. Move less.

But times have changed. Marched on. It’s 2024. Our diet has changed. Our lives are transformed. Who hunts now? Who gathers now? For the most part we delegate. Oh, Keith and I reap the occasional crop of apples or rhubarb. Our Yorkshire herb garden thrives without baboons and bushbuck. Summer and Autumn are fairly productive. But harvesting is hardly laborious. For the most part Aldi saves the day. At least we are not shopping online. A hollow justification, that expends even less calories. Sit more. Move less.

In Europe, seasons are annulled. Air freight and plastic polytunnels have seen to that. Our freezer too is filled to the brim. All food is available all year round. Perhaps your ethical code will guide you? Perhaps the depth of your pockets holds more sway? But the lack of seasonal shifts mean that we gorge and snack all year round. No time to fast. No time to abstain. We face a perfect storm of plenty and nothing. Plenty to eat and nothing to do.

But Keith and I avoid the nothing. Activity the buzz word. Holidays are oft defined as a break from work. Our holidays will sound like hard work to many. Cycling day after day rocks my boat. Fair weather, not foul, keeps my boat afloat. Caen to La Rochelle in a Saharan heat wave, proved no sweat last September. More rubber wheeled exploits in Normandy, the Loire, the Lot and the Dordogne this April, were washed down with Champagne.

The North Yorkshire roads have a gravity of their own. I have 3 bikes that variously enjoy the terrain. Some of my bikes even have names. Janice, my mountain bike, has rather fallen out of favour since I bought a gravel bike. The gravel bike ticks my Goldilocks' boxes, and has superseded both Janice, and my road bike, on almost all fair weather days. To be honest, my fair weather demands can be tricky. But at least our indoor gym, and my indoor bike, fill any wet day voids. Zwift serves a purpose, but Zwift is trumped by the real world on any given dry day. We sit more, but move more.

Weights, Yoga, Oh No’s, Joe Wicks, Down dog and Marijke have us cursing in our gym. But Morton is a chap who’s name I wish I’d never heard. Each time I pace, or even stand, a teensy scarred nerve in my foot fires off a signal to my brain. Move less, sit more, I hear.

My brother Robin is responsible for us moving more and sitting less this year. For 2 years, Robin has been waxing lyrical about a new American craze called pickleball. Why would you ever want to pickle a ball? Not the sort of thing that could ever happen in Yorkshire. We’re proper sticklers for tradition around here, I’ll have you know. There’s not a chance that you’ll be able to pickle your balls around here bro’. I opined. But Robin is not one to take things at face value. During his visit to Yorkshire in September he ferreted out our local Pickleball club in Terrington village. Pickleball is a cross between badminton, tennis, squash and table tennis. Played on a badminton court. With a low net. A plastic ball with holes in it. And paddle bats. Now we are busy pickling balls on Tuesday and Wednesday evenings. Crazed? Addicted? Moving more. Sitting less.

But what is this exercise all about? What are we training for? Our evolution prepared us for this. To move more, for when we couldn’t move so much. To sit less, for when we had to sit more. Of course we want to stay fit. Strong. And ready for the challenges of Zambia. Not to help us to escape predators. Nor to help us to dodge our big grey gardeners. In Yorkshire it’s quite easy to sit less and to move more. But in Zambia moving is much more of a challenge. The heat is an issue. Easy to surmount with electricity and air conditioning. But Murphy’s law means that those two luxuries may be elusive. We will have to work to stay active, but bikes and elephants are not good friends. Our main fun activity will be off the menu. My gravel bike would be no good in South Luangwa. And Amazon won’t equip the gym in our Zambian alternate universe. Zwift is but a dream. In a week’s time we will be moving less and sitting more.

The drought in Zambia threatens food poverty for many. Yet those daytime TV newsreels don’t come from South Luangwa. The tourist industry will at least ensure that food will continue to grow and flow through the Valley. There is no air freight. No polytunnels. We have seasonal food. Fresh fruit and veg is delivered to our door. We will be greeted by avocados when we arrive. Mango season will be close on its heels. To add to the insult of drought, our first choice shop, Mayana, is closing down. Mayana is our only source of safe meat. Mayana is moving to Chipata, two and a half hours away. But it might as well be moving to the moon. Chipata is outside of our permissible hours journey time from the park gate. We will struggle to make healthy food choices. Sarah from Brandsby, Yorkshire, is unable to magic her delicious super seedy and super grainy sourdough loaves into our African larder. White, high GI buns melt in the mouth and settle around our middles. From experience, I know that clothes that fit perfectly will soon seem to shrink and confine me.

So, we hit Zambia lean and fit. And the battle commences. We fight against the evils of an easy life. Unhealthy food choices seem so attractive. Sitting threatens to gain ascendancy over moving. Heat and wild animals stand against us. We plot to keep moving. And scheme to sit less. Our search is on for healthy food. Do we mobilise brown flour and kitchen toil? Or go the whole hog with a sourdough starter kit?

Daily battle. Our default will be 6am yoga and HIIT. A dawn attack. Out from our pits before the sun bakes Luangwa. Yoga mats essential to cushion our concrete floor. Inflatable weights. Filled with water not air. We lift to defend our bodies. Armed with badminton rackets since pickleball needs flat ground.

So now the truth is told. All this has purpose. Our regime has meaning. Our fitness needs honing for the next war. We have just been recruited to join Karen and Alan at Boot camp. January 2025 sees us join forces in Costa Rica. The plan is disingenuously labelled a “holiday”. But in truth the campaign entails taking Costa Rica by storm. Left to right, or should I say East to West. No motor. No rest. We will walk, cycle, raft, kayak. Our walking legs and cycling muscles need form. The real war: Karen versus Ginny. Karen must not win! Sit less, move more.

Family pickleball

Type 2 fun in Scotland with Karen and Alan