Adrian Barich: I’ve let my exercise and diet slip but I’m making a comeback. Who wants to join me?

I’ve pushed the “Don’t let the old man in” message before in this column.

It’s become a bit of a mantra for “Being Barra”. I’ve written about staying active. About fighting back against the slow creep of time with a pair of sand shoes and a bit of sweat.

And judging by the feedback I’ve had — emails, comments, even people stopping me in the street — I may have struck a chord.

One reader reckons she keeps one of my columns on her fridge as motivation for herself and her husband. Well done, I love that.

It’s reassuring to know that in some small way, “Being Barra” has helped get a few more people off the couch and out the door.

But here’s the twist. In what can only be described as a full-blown case of column karma, I’ve been ignoring my own advice. What a bloody hypocrite, I can hear you say.

Somewhere between the middle of footy season, doing presidential work for the mighty Demons, late-night deadlines, live crosses, and finals chaos, I stopped walking the talk. I lost sight of the fact that motion is lotion and movement is medicine.

Apart from a twice daily stroll with Frankie (our wonderful cavalier/French bulldog cross), my exercise routine has nosedived. I haven’t shown my face at my gym, Conditn, in months.

And the diet? Jeepers, don’t ask. Not great. I’ve even been eating hot chips (which must be the most irresistible food there is).

The health checks? Still on the to-do list. And the scales? Let’s just say they’ve tipped into three figures. I’ve even been holding my breath to tie my shoelaces.

Yep, I’m puffier than I’d like and I have been feeling it. Due to lack of weight-bearing exercise and stretching muscles I’ve started to get . . . well, I guess, a bit old. And not really in the “wise and dignified” sense. More in the “where did I put my back out this time?” sense.

A thing called sciatica has raised its ugly head, clearly stemming from too many collisions in footy. Running into other men for a living has knobs on it later in life.

The pain starts in your back or buttock and travels down the leg along the path of the sciatic nerve, apparently. And guess what? When you have pain past 50, your mind turns to what else it could be. When you’re younger, you’re sure it’s just muscular, but by my age you’ve heard so many horror stories about how it all started as a pain in the back, that you end up imagining something very serious is going on. You also start focusing on how important sleep is too. Have you noticed that? It really is very important for healing.

Anyway, I feel like I’ve let you all down. Because we had a good thing going, eh? We got ourselves out there. We started walking or running or riding again. We booked the overdue GP check-up. We took positive steps. And me? I’ve been stuck behind a screen, ignoring the warning signs, telling myself I’d “get back into it after finals”. That old line.

The truth is, life has a habit of getting in the way, especially for blokes over 50. Work ramps up. Family needs you. Someone’s always got something going on. And in trying to be everything to everyone, it’s easy to put yourself dead last.

But the reality is brutal: if you don’t put yourself first once in a while, you may not be around long enough to help anyone else.

So anyway, now the footy season is over, who wants to join me in a comeback?

The old man has slipped in. Not barged through the door, mind you; he’s smarter than that. He just sneaks in slowly while you’re too busy to notice. One skipped workout. One postponed appointment. One too many nights finishing off the leftover pasta. He’s patient, that old bugger. He’ll wait as long as it takes. And before you know it, there he is in your mirror, your joints, your waistband.

It’s simple. You can’t be the dad, the partner, the friend, or the colleague you want to be if you’re running on fumes and quietly ignoring all the warning signals.

Self-care isn’t selfish. It’s survival. Too many people still think looking after themselves is soft. That booking a skin check or saying no to an extra work thing somehow makes you a lesser person.

But the truth is, prioritising your health is one of the most responsible things you can do. For your family. For your kids and grandkids. For your future.

Because if something goes wrong, and let’s face it, eventually it will, especially if you don’t pay attention, the people who pay the price aren’t just you. It’s the ones you love.

So I’m making a change. I’ve booked the GP. I’m back out there. More water, less beer. Less screen, more sleep. The stretching is painful and borderline embarrassing, but I’m doing it. Bit by bit. One foot in front of the other.

Let’s stay in the fight as long as we can. Let’s enjoy the next chapter, and be there to see the young generation grow up. Let’s stubbornly refuse to fade quietly into the background.

Don’t let the old man in. He can bloody well wait.