The Single Dad's Guide to the Galaxy: Parenting in the real world

by Roger McEwan

  I’m far from obsessed with my fitness and weight but I prefer feeling fit and trim, or at least trimish. But knowing that your outward appearance has little to do with you as a person doesn’t help me when someone gives me the once-over. As a species humans put a lot of emphasis, and can tell a lot, from that quick once-over. It’s partly defensive, in that we’re trying to work out if this person is dangerous or we’re likely to be eaten. It is also, of course, partly procreative as we try to ascertain if this is an opportunity to help the species survive, adapt and prosper through the sharing of genetic code (although we seldom think of it in quite those terms). It is, however, hard to fight thousands of years of evolutionary fine tuning.

  As a dad, and more particularly a single dad, I have a few reasons for keeping fit.

  First is to simply keep up with Rog and Liv. Whether it’s tennis, cricket, swimming, volleyball or soccer, I like to be able to play and practise with them as well as take part in events that include parents. Liv and I played in a parent-child tennis tournament, and while we didn’t win we had fun. I’m also keen for the chance to play against Rog in a cricket match one day. I know he would love to clout me for a four or a six. I’d never hear the end of it.

  Second, image and brand are important in business. As I’m self-employed, I represent myself. Wearing a suit and being presentable are part of the business world. It’s interesting that research from two Australian universities has shown that good-looking male workers can earn 20 per cent more than their plainer colleagues. In true Australian style they also reported that outright ugliness can reduce a man’s earnings by 26 per cent. If looking good helps me earn more money, that’s great. I learnt at the start of my businesses career to never say ‘It’s not the money’.

  The final reason is that there have been periods when my long-distance relationship has been too complex and I’ve found myself single. In an available state, if I’m at a party (rare), the pub (not so rare) or a work situation (common), the reaction I’d like to get from a female once-over is ‘Cor, I’d do him!’ A UK article I saw describing the experiences of middle-aged females on the dating scene slated the appearance, teeth, hygiene and conversational ability of single males in my age range. In many respects that’s great. It sounds like the majority of people out there make me look good. Still, I’d like to aim higher.

  CALORIES IN

  To keep trim, fit and healthy I’ve developed a range of strategies that seem to work for me and my single-dad lifestyle. I recently picked up some sound advice while watching a televised debate on weight loss. A scientist was explaining how the human body is a thermodynamic system in which the key equation for weight gain or loss is energy in and energy out. If you consume more calories than you expend, the surplus calories are stored as fat. Conversely, expend more than you consume and your body burns the stored fat. I found this logic simple and it seemed to mirror reality. If you eat like a horse then there’s a good chance you’ll look like a horse, at least from the rear!

  This logic also eliminated the need for the stupid organic, hydroponic, low-carb, low-fat and low-taste diets which are guaranteed to drive you to steak, ale and chips within thirty-six hours. All I had to do was watch what I ate (calories in) and exercised sufficiently (calories out). All calories aren’t the same, though, and you need to eat a balanced diet. Consuming all your calories through alcohol and pizza or McDonald’s doesn’t work, despite what their advertising may say. Morgan Spurlock of Supersize Me fame tried this approach, much to the detriment of his health.

  I found that eating healthy wasn’t that hard during the weeks when I have the children. I ensure they eat a healthy, balanced diet and therefore I do too. I give them a light breakfast of toast, cereal or croissants and I occasionally make pancakes as they are Liv’s favourite. A healthy lunch consisting of a sandwich, cereal bar, fruit and, as we aren’t saints, chips and biscuits. Dinner is your standard meal of meat and two veg or a pasta dish. I would happily skip dessert as, unlike Rog and Liv, I haven’t a sweet tooth. But I ensure my rabble are kept from rioting by providing them with dessert. Cut-up fruit and chocolate dipping sauce are a cunning way to make half the dessert healthy.

  Watching what I eat and, more importantly, what I drink I find tougher when I’m alone because I don’t have to practise what I preach. I regularly skip breakfast and just have coffee. There is zero chance of making lunch when I don’t have to make the children’s. I dislike making lunches to the point that one of the blessings of the school holidays is their absence. For lunch, cafés or the university student centre are my usual targets. The student centre has a range of healthy options, but chicken and chips or a Chinese boxed takeout are hard to resist. Although I dislike cooking for one, I make an effort with dinner most nights balanced with the odd visit to my Mum’s and the local kebab shop. I can exercise more in my weeks without the children and I think that helps keep me in balance, though beer can tip the scales.

  Alcohol, specifically beer, is my biggest weakness when it comes to calories in and a more virtuous lifestyle. It’s unfortunate, even outrageous, that a small bottle of beer has 300 calories. There are those lucky people who just have a beer but that’s usually not me and so my calorie intake can rapidly increase in multiples of 300. Then there’s the well-known fact that beer hones your appetite razor-sharp. It’s a bad combination and can result in the children’s stash of sweets being seen as fair game post-dinner. I replace the items ransacked so the children don’t miss out and there’s no evidence of my sugar splurge.

  My stance regarding food is pretty relaxed. I try to eat healthily, but if I splurge on something I try to fit in an extra gym session as penance. During our marriage Rose convinced me to try the ‘Body for Life’ programme with her. I found that the exercise regime made sense but the diet suggestions were over the top. I couldn’t understand the rationale of having an omelette with only the white of the egg. That’s not the way nature intended the world to work. Rose’s anaemic omelette looked and tasted horrible. I took the muttered lack of commitment comments with my yellow and tasty omelette. I even added contraband items like butter and cheese when she wasn’t watching.

  A casual approach to dieting is sensible and more workable for me in the long run. Besides, I haven’t heard any evidence that fad diets are effective for long-term weight loss. In fact a colleague who studies the weight-loss industry tells me that technically the term for them should be bollocks. That makes sense because if there was a sure dieting method then it would now be common knowledge. They may help you shed a few kilos before summer but they’ll be back by winter with a couple of friends for good measure. Given that, and the clinically proven fact that people on diets end up miserable gits, I thought a greater focus on the calories-out side of the equation made sense: exercise.

  CALORIES OUT

  I like exercise and I don’t find it a chore, though it’s not a pleasure either. During the weeks by myself I plan a lot of exercise but in the weeks with the children it’s logistically harder. I did set up a home gym in the garage, one of my few possessions from the separation. I tried using it during these weeks but it now sits with an impressive layer of dust covering it. There’s a good reason for that which I will get to shortly.

  My preference is to attend karate and exercise classes. They are tough and sometimes I have to drag myself there with a constant dialogue in my head telling me to head home and put my feet up, you deserve it today. I have been known to drive to and past the dojo or gym on cold, wintery nights. Those occasions are rare and I’m usually pretty bouncy on the way in. I’m not so bouncy on the way out, more draggy.

  When I started karate and attending gym classes I started taking more interest in my weight as the most obvious indicator of improvement. After six weeks of diligent training and watching my diet I was clearly getting fitter as I didn’t feel like dying after every session. But, disappointingly, according to the scales I was getting fatter. Someho
w a couple of extra kilos had got under my skin in more ways than one.

  I realised that this situation was being caused by two related phenomena. First, as you exercise you add muscle which is more dense than fat. It isn’t heavier, as a kilo of muscle equals a kilo of fat, but the same mass of muscle weighs more than the equivalent mass of fat. I was replacing fat with muscle and it was natural my weight would increase. I liked this affirming, scientific explanation.

  However, it’s the second factor that contains the ‘gotcha’. My focus on exercise had me starting to believe my own bullshit. I convinced myself, at least subconsciously, that I can consume as many calories as I like because my body needs the fuel. My finely tuned athletic body could eat, drink and be merry. Hence the double whammy – you add muscle and you don’t lose much fat. Damn. I needed to exercise something else, that most difficult and painful word, moderation. It was this that allowed me to start turning into an Adonis. Well, at least a pale, middle-aged Kiwi version.

  The final piece of the puzzle regarding exercise was identifying the level of intensity I needed to reach during exercise. No rocket science was required, it was simply the amount of sweat I produced. I left karate in a sweat-soaked gi and absolutely knackered. I was, however, leaving the gym, before I started attending the classes, with a spring in my step in clothes that I could wear again (decency and courtesy being the only barrier to actually doing this).

  The difference was entirely down to having an instructor. The karate sensei, or teacher, made sure we worked intensely for the entire session. You aren’t even allowed off the mat for water, it’s part of the tradition and discipline. I found it impossible to capture the same level of intensity in the gym and after about half an hour I was bored and ready to stop. I abandoned the treadmill, cross trainers, exercycles and weights and decided to try instead one of the instructor-led fitness classes. I’d been doing karate for a few years and thought that while the classes would be more intense than the gym, they would be a walk in the park compared to karate. Body Attack immediately changed my mind.

  It would have been more accurate to call it Body Massacre and it should come with a warning for cocky, middle-aged men who believe they’re fit. After my first class I suffered for the next few days. I couldn’t bend down to pick up the ball when I was coaching Rog’s cricket team. When it came near me I kicked it to the nearest child pretending it was the cool thing to do. The intensity generated in the class was similar to karate because the instructor set a breakneck let’s-all-die-together pace. While there are low-intensity options, and you can take a break at any time, the pumping music and enthusiastic instructor keep you striving to maintain the pace. This results in you finishing the class drenched in sweat but feeling good. I was hooked and became a regular attendee at Body Attack, Body Step and Body Combat. This is the reason my home gym sits idly gathering dust. I equally can’t replicate the enthusiasm and intensity required in my garage.

  Lyn, my student colleague, and I became gym buddies. Having someone to go with makes it harder to bunk off on cold nights. I admired the fact that she wasn’t put off going even though her religion meant she had to have no bare skin showing other than her face: track pants, long-sleeved shirt and a head scarf during sessions in the summer that left those of us in shorts and a T-shirt sweating like pigs.

  EXERCISING WITH THE CHILDREN

  I like to add exercise into my day by getting out and about with the children. I see parents at the pool reading and/or eating while their children swim. Not me, I’m in the pool too. Try it next time. Jump in with them and splash about, it’s more fun for everyone. You get to act like a kid again and it adds exercise to your day.

  The children and I often hire an inner tube and then battle over the right to lie on it spread-eagled until we are exhausted. I like to go early in the morning so the pool isn’t crowded, but we still attract disapproving looks when we get in the way of adults who are trying to swim lengths. I smile apologetically but insincerely and have to bite my tongue to avoid pointing out that we are in the family pool, not the lengths pool. The clue is surely in the names.

  Walking, while unlikely to change your shape much, is a pleasant evening activity in summer. I sometimes sweeten the deal by bribing Rog and Liv with the promise of ice cream, though this adds exercise into dessert.

  They often rode their scooters, until they outgrew them, while I jogged or walked briskly. Liv briefly upgraded to a ripstick, which appears to defy many known laws of physics – a single wheel on the front and back of a skateboard that can twist in the middle. It looks impossible, but bored-looking children wiggle past on their way to school. Liv was pretty good on one and would wiggle her way up and down the street with ease. I tried it once and managed a few metres before ending up on my backside, much to my children’s delight. Thankfully it wasn’t captured on camera where I could have gone viral.

  During our walks I have to keep a wary eye where I step as my left ankle rolls easily, the result of a bad sprain at karate. When it happens I usually lurch sharply left and hit the deck with a cry of pain and numerous, unavoidable swear words. I have twisted my ankle in this manner in numerous settings – in the PhD lab where everyone thought that was hilarious, on the cobblestones of the Seine as one cobblestone was missing, and at various other places.

  One memorable time my ankle betrayed me was when the children and I were walking on a section of bush walk. There were a lot of tree roots criss-crossing the path and I warned them to be careful. The path was narrow but my sociable little Liv, nine at the time, insisted on walking next to me and holding my hand. Suddenly I felt the familiar rush of pain as I trod on one of the roots I was hoping to avoid.

  My left ankle gave way and I yawed violently left, off the path and down the bank. I let Liv’s hand go so I didn’t drag her with me and slid head first towards an unpleasant-looking swamp. It wasn’t a life-threatening situation, just poise and pride denting. I could hear Liv yelling in my wake, ‘DDDAAADDDYYYY’. I desperately grabbed bushes and clumps of grass, trying to slow my momentum. I clawed myself to a halt a metre or two before the dark and noxious-smelling muck. Liv was up on the bank with wide eyes. Rog, who had been walking ahead, came back to aid in my rescue. I was in an inverted heap, dry, relatively clean and laughing. My ankle wasn’t badly hurt, it never is, and once I struggled back to the path we carried on this time in single file.

  Liv has a curious knack of being in the thick of things on our walks. When she was seven she had to scooter home from the ducks with only one gumboot. Rog and I were busy feeding the ducks when I glanced over and saw Liv looking puzzled in one gumboot and one sock. I looked around and couldn’t see the other gumboot, only Liv looking sorry for herself. After some gentle cajoling it emerged that she’d been chasing a duck and went to give it ‘a friendly kick’ as it had been pecking other ducks. Unfortunately her gumboot had flown off and into the lagoon, never to be seen again.

  Liv, who loves animals and is a gentle soul, can be a bit mischievous like that. I have a photo of her when she was three sitting on a bench with one of our cats, Flecky, in front of her. Flecky quite rightly has a concerned look on her face as Liv’s gumboot is high over her tail. Her kick had missed by a proverbial whisker.

  Staying active and healthy allows me to keep up to the required pace of my single-dad lifestyle. Whether it’s being able to charge around with my children who get faster every day, get through my days with a spring in my step, enhance my brand image and cash flow, or allow for hard-wired snap judgements to go my way, I will continue to eat healthily, sweat, strain and run away from the more flabby and sickly person stalking me.

  Reflections

  Being fit and healthy when you’re a single parent lets you keep up with your children and may get you a second glance.

  With regards to your weight, keep it simple. Eat as healthily as possible and exercise as much as you can while keeping it enjoyable. Don’t buy
into the diet fads, which only reduce your bank balance.

  You have to be more disciplined regarding diet and alcohol when the children aren’t around.

  Unless you’re incredibly self-motivated, fitness classes should help you get to a higher level of exercise intensity and make you sweat. It feels great afterwards.

  Just because you are exercising it doesn’t mean you can now consume the calories of an elephant, unless you want to look like a reasonably fit elephant.

  Get into the pool with your children. It’s great fun and burns calories.

  Incorporating exercise such as walking with your children is a great way to keep active and find out what’s going on in their world.

  15. That’s Entertainment

  If you want to see what children can do, you must stop giving them things.

  Norman Douglas (writer, 1868-1952)

  Entertaining my children when they were smaller was relatively straightforward. In the summer they would play for hours on a plastic fort that had built-in water sprinklers, and on colder days it was toys, TV and games. They played well together, mostly, and would invent games to keep themselves occupied. I have delightful photos of teddy bears waiting in line for a swing and slightly less delightful photos of them waiting nervously to play chicken with Hot Wheels cars.

  As the children grew our games became more advanced and the three of us would battle to become champion of Monopoly, Cluedo or Hey That’s My Fish. My brother, a board game aficionado, has kept us supplied with interesting European board games such as Zooloretto, Rat-A-Tat-Cat or Forbidden Island, which is one of the few board games you play as a team.