From Dib Dab to Dibaba

Roll up, roll up, for one man’s journey from Dib Dab to Dibaba. Over the next three months, in an occasional series, I will chronicle my friend Junior’s attempt to transform himself from a man sometimes seen munching through a six-pack of McCoys to the owner of an abdominal six-pack as he trains for the London Marathon.

Yoga

I have a memory of my Mum wearing flared trousers at the end of the 70s and telling me about yoga. It was a brilliant form of exercise, she said, that taught you real strength and flexibility. At the end of her practice she felt like she was melting into the floor. My Mum’s face and voice were so illuminated, animated and happy it made me want to do yoga, too.