Unfit for shul or shopping

When the COVID-19 pandemic ended and we returned to places of prayer, I realised that I was no longer “shul fit”. I found that I was less able to endure longer services and was more irritated with time wasted and sermons that taught me nothing and made me feel even less.

Maybe it was because our lives had flashed in front of us and we understood that our days were measured and maybe it was because the “shul” muscle that we had developed over the years needed additional training.

On Sunday, I realised that it wasn’t just in this area where I have lost fitness. Shopping is another. Admittedly it was my fault. Just like a relapsed runner doesn’t start with a 21km run after a few years with no training, so I shouldn’t have tackled Sandton City.

In the same way that an athlete would begin with a 5km or 10km run, I should have started with KosherWorld. Or Pick n Pay Norwood.

But I didn’t. We had things to do, a birthday present to buy, and according to my wife, Sandton was where it was to happen.

I started strong. I was well hydrated, my nutrition was decent – a piece of rye toast with some cheese – and I was reasonably rested. Which is why I moved through the first few shops with impressive patience and focus. I managed to participate in numerous conversations about sleeve lengths, debated how many people would be wearing the same thing, and lamented the increased costs of some poor-quality items.

It was in Country Road that I began to falter. It might have been the prices, but the truth was simply that I didn’t have the stamina I used to have. I recall that after about 20 minutes of standing outside the changing room, I started to lose peripheral vision. I felt lightheaded, and could no longer control some of the things I said. It wasn’t pretty.

My wife, seeing where this was going, sent me to buy myself a coffee. She paid, met me at the coffee area, and shepherded me to the food court, popping into Birkenstock and a few other shops along the way. She deposited me at a table, dumped the bags with me, and skipped energetically back the way we had come (she had missed something because I was a misery).

The hour and a half in the food court passed quickly, after which she ushered me home, fed me lunch, made me consume plenty of fluids, and allowed me to sit on the couch for a period of recovery.

And then she wondered out loud how I would feel about going back to Sandton as she had a few teeny things still to do. Her face was shining, her inspiration was visible, and her anticipation admirable. In contrast, I could sob at the mere thought of it.

And so, she went on her own, relieved and happy, and I remained where she left me, relieved and happy.

I’ve no idea why triathlons consist of running, swimming, and cycling. There’s little doubt that if we really want to get with the Johannesburg times, we should rather include prayer services, shopping, and husbandry. It takes as much training, and the achievement is just as great. Maybe even greater.