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I'd like to talk about my father, who is fifty-eight and, until last year, treated exercise as something that happened to other people. He drives a taxi in Hai Phong, so he sits for ten hours a day, and his idea of dinner was a bowl of rice with fatty pork followed by two beers. Last March his annual check-up showed high blood pressure and borderline cholesterol, and the doctor told him quite bluntly, 'Either you change now or you come back to me as a patient.' That frightened my mother more than him, so I decided to step in. I didn't lecture him, because that never works with my father. Instead I bought him a cheap fitness band for about four hundred thousand dong and bet him that he couldn't manage six thousand steps a day for a month. He is extremely competitive, so he took the bait. Every evening at half past five we walked around the lake near our house, and I gradually talked my mother into swapping the pork for steamed fish three nights a week. The first fortnight was rough; he complained about his knees and sneaked a beer whenever I wasn't looking. But after about four months he had lost six kilos, his blood pressure was back in the normal range, and he no longer got out of breath climbing to our third-floor flat. What I felt was mostly relief, mixed with a bit of quiet pride. The funny thing is that he now sends me a screenshot of his step count every night and asks why mine is lower, so I seem to have created a monster.