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Our family has recently moved from Texas to Perth, Australia. We're looking forward to sharing our adventures with you!

 

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Adventures in Manchester

We stopped in Manchester on our way to Perth. I don't know wh


Greetings from Manchester! We’ve stopped here for a day on our way from Houston to Perth, and it is beautiful.


For those of you vaguely aware of what planet Earth looks like (for those of you who aren’t, I’ve included a map below), you’re probably asking yourself, “Manchester? That’s nowhere near Australia. Why are you in Manchester?”


I do not know.

May courtesy of my wife. Her GIS skills never cease to amaze me.

But nevertheless, we are here and enjoying it!


After only a few hours, the boys are already growing accustomed to life abroad. Michael, our two year old, emphatically waves and blows kisses at the Singapore Airlines stewardesses and local Manchester women. Upon Michael’s beckoning Owen, our five year old, proceeds to tell them that his dad is in fact Superman, is the strongest dad in the world, and can lift an entire building. They are, by far, the best wingmen I’ve ever had (although, granted, the bar was set quite low by my college roommates).


While my wingmen and wife took a nap after our long flight (which got us no closer to Perth), I went to workout at the hotel gym. I stepped on the locker room scale, and because they use "kilograms" instead of "pounds", learned that I weigh even less in England than I do in the States. As a skinny guy, I was quite upset. [1] I proceeded to the weight room, and put the usual amount of weight on the barbell for benchpress. I laid down on the bench, briefly lifted the barbell, before it came slamming down on my chest, breaking two ribs.

Not only are kilograms confusing, they can be deadly.


Another guy at the gym, a brit, had a good laugh, called me “mate”, and helped to lift the weight off my chest. I tried to voice my distain for "kilograms" and inform him that "mates" do not laugh at each other after being crushed by the barbell. But one of the broken ribs, having punctured a lung, rendered me unable to do anything more than stumble back to the hotel room.


I'm sure it goes without saying, but please do not tell Owen the story of "Superdad at the gym in Manchester". Let's just keep this between you, me, and the thousands of other people [2] who read this blog every day.


The good news is that I already have a "mate" in Manchester, and my newfound knowledge of "kilograms" will no doubt serve me well in Perth (should we ever get there, which at this point seems unlikely).


[1] Author's note (August 15, 2018): Weighing so few "kilograms" motivated me to get a personal trainer in Perth, who informed me that I actually weigh too many kilograms. Being simultaneously overweight and underweight is indeed an impressive achievement, but more on that in a later post.

[2] Two other people, actually. My parents.

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