FIT FOODIE: A boma under an old oak in the Karoo — for another old oke

A long life can still teach you things, even if it might seem a little late to learn something new. Like being the oldest guy in training at your gym. And planning other activities too – of the culinary kind.

After weeks of agonising over what it would be like to lead a cooking workshop for an entire weekend, it turned out so well that I’ve committed to another one. Now I’m counting down to the end of January, once the madness of “the season” is behind us all – and this time, it will be all about the boma.

The one they decided to name after me. Whoever thought that could happen? First, a house in Cradock (Jackman House in Market Street, part of the Tuishuise and Victoria Manor Hotel), and now a boma. In Barrydale.

How could I not put my hand up to put it to good use once they’d broken the news to me… “they” being Sue and Rick Melvill of the Karoo Art Hotel, who enlisted the aid of general manager Wayne Robinson to build a beautiful boma at the top end of their property. And Wayne and his crew chased the clock to ensure it was ready in time for our cooking weekend two weeks ago.

The boma lies beneath a magnificent old oak, and with a wry smile I can say that this makes it perfect for this old oke. This weird old gym bunny. Who now gets up early on weekdays for a 40-minute session on the treadmill at gym before showering and going to work at my local coffee shop, The Daily at Phesantekraal View Mall. Then back to gym after 5pm for my hour of weights and whatnot. Everybody who has ever known me is shaking their heads and wondering, Who’s inhabited his body?

A great big scare inhabited my heart, that’s what. It could have ended me. And surviving open heart surgery changes you. It sure has changed me.

This is the Tony who woke up very seriously after his heart surgery, and knew this was his once chance to become a fit old man. Fitter than he’s ever been. An old oke with muscle building and fat disappearing.

It doesn’t happen anything like overnight – I’m a weed compared to most other guys at my gym – but I am not giving up unless a hand reaches down from the sky to take me. And I’m the only 71-year-old at this gym doing the kind of training the young men do there. That, on the authority of my personal trainer. He calls me champ. I like that, can’t deny.

A 71-year-old who can cook a little, and who may or may not be doing another cookbook. Whose current book is going to its second reprint. Goodness. What is all this? Gratitude flows from me like the adrenaline that pumps through me on the gym bike.

So, I need to work out on that side of my life too, that lifelong fear of talking to a crowd: with another cookbook out at some point (these things take a while), I need to make myself better at doing cooking workshops, demos at book fairs, and not letting my fear of public speaking get into my head. With practice and determination I believe I can and will conquer that fear, and I am on my way to achieving that, one “appearance” at a time.

It’s like a gym workout: the more often you do it, the more normal it becomes, the stronger you are, and you start taking on heavier weights.

Or your Personal Gym Bunny adds the weight for you.