A little about me.

The beginning of my love for fitness and health goes back a long way.
 

It was 8:00 AM on a long, hot Serbian summer holiday. I was deep in a sweet dream - sailing around the world, wind in my hair, the horizon endless. That dream would, incidentally, become a reality one day…but more on that  tale later.
 

Suddenly, I was shaken awake by a familiar voice: “Come on, son. It’s time to get the job done.”

Blinking through the haze of sleep, I looked up to see the broad figure of my father standing over me. “Where are we going, Dad?” I mumbled.

“As scheduled, we have to do our exercise routine” he replied matter-of-factly.
 

There was no room for negotiation. With a sigh, I dragged myself out of bed, despite loving my sleep more than almost anything, and within half an hour, we were in the nearest park. If memory serves me right, I was eleven or twelve at the time.
 

That morning my father put me through sit-ups, back extensions, squats, press-ups - all the fundamental, no-nonsense bodyweight exercises. He taught me skipping and running techniques, too. The routines were repetitive, yes, but undeniably effective.
 

As you can imagine, I wasn’t exactly thrilled. In my mind, summer holidays existed for one purpose only: the endless pursuit of happiness and fun with my friends. My dad, however, had a very different view. I suspect he saw the time off school as the perfect opportunity to, how should I put it, torture me? Or rather, to build strength and discipline.
 

That was my first real encounter with fitness. And the first lesson my father taught me stuck firmly:

If you’re going to do something, do it properly - or don’t do it at all!