I’m Ditching The Six Pack For A Six Pack

Ask yourself, what would Hugh Jackman do?

Like most men in their thirties, the only six pack I’ve seen is the cold one sitting in the fridge or the ones I see on Instagram which belong to the likes of Hugh Jackman.

‘I’d have a six pack as well if I was being paid millions to work out!’ I lamely offer as an excuse as my wife shamelessly double-taps the screen to show the dancing hairy man beast some love.

Sadly however, I’ve never seen a six-pack looking back at me in the bathroom mirror.

In April my wife told me that she was pregnant with our first baby. Very exciting news for both of us. So, that same day, I decided it was the perfect time for me to give up the grog and get fit, much to my wife’s disgust -- as she was about to grow uncontrollably, I was planning on shredding.

I’m not a complete newbie when it comes to exercise and for the last few years I’ve been a regular at the gym. I quite enjoy it, but the trouble occurs when Friday swings by because I also enjoy giving my drinking arm a workout and bicep curling pizza into my gob. This in turn cancels out all the hard work I’ve put in Monday to Thursday.

So, I found myself in a brand-new space! The beer was gone. The Wednesday night ‘I’ve had a gutful of work’ wine was gone! It was my time to shine and I was taking this shit seriously. I was going to get me some rock-hard Wolverine abs.

Then I made my first mistake. I turned to the internet for help.

My first question is: WHY CAN’T ANYONE AGREE ON ANYTHING!? “You need to eat more!” “You need to eat less.” “You need to do heavy lifts and low reps.” “You need to do low weight and high reps.” “You need to train your core every day.” “You don’t need to train core at all, just do squats.” “You need to do more cardio.” “You don’t need to waste your time with cardio.” And my personal favourite, “Everyone’s different. You just need to do what works for you.” I’m sorry but how the **** am I supposed to know what that is?

Oh, and did I mention food? Because you know ‘abs are made in the kitchen’. One week I’m eating barely enough food to keep a small cat alive and the next I’m eating more food than The Rock could stomach.

I’ve cut carbs, added carbs, counted my macros, managed my calorific intake. In fact, my diet changes almost as frequently as our Prime Minister.

I’ve realised that the fitness industry is a lot like religion. Most of those with a religious belief would likely agree that there’s some form of higher power, but no bastard can agree on what or who that is and of course, everyone thinks that their god is the one true god and everyone else is wrong.

In the fitness community everyone agrees that exercise and eating healthy makes you fitter, but no one can agree on the right way to do it. The fact that I’m constantly looking at all this information online means the more I look at it, the more I’m bombarded with it.

I open my YouTube app right now the top three suggested videos are ‘Growing your skinny legs’, ‘Counting your Macros’ and ‘How Hugh Jackman gets those rock-hard abs your wife drools over.’


I’m not even safe on Instagram. It’s crammed full of fitness “experts” who litter the streets of social media, preaching their sermon of health and fitness while promising you eternal health and happiness if you follow their gospel and, like the little sheep I am, I soak it all up. I desperately want to be one of their #transformation posts.

This is the kind of six pack we're talkin' bout. Image: Getty

So where am I now? Still sifting through the endless reams of information, no abs in sight and currently eyeing off the donut bouquet that was delivered to work today.