Exercise is a strenuous word in itself! Every time it is uttered, a rising wave of guilt fills our chest followed shortly after by the need of a little comfort, usually found in a bright purple wrapper or a shiny metal tin. Oh well.... I've already had 6 packets of biscuits today... I'll start again tomorrow. Except, that tomorrow forever exposes itself as out of our grasp; always on our mind, sure, but never quite within the folds of sanity it seems.
Constant reminders depict our laziness every minute of every day; the 'Zumba class' posters in the library, the signposts leading to the gym at the end of the road, the lonesome jogger.... And then we come to our senses; how could it be healthy to have skin the colour of a beetroot? Surely that much water pouring from your forehead is a symptom of some foreign, incurable disease? As for the heaving: that undoubtedly means a heart attack is on the way, no? All these small reassurances seem to convince us that we are in fact safer without exercise. Yet somehow those little doubts still manage to worm their way into our head... obesity... diabetes... heart disease... Yeah. But that won't be me. That stuff happens to other people.
I know how much effort it is, to forcefully drag yourself away from that longed-for lie-in, to squeeze into those lycra shorts and to face the biting air of Saturday morning. It's disgusting, it's off-putting, it's terribly hard but worth it (ah cliche!) !
I know, I'm a fine one to talk; sitting here behind a screen right now, a large selection of empty sweet wrappers collaged upon my duvet! Nonetheless, it seems so many people do it, perhaps sweating until you are a beautiful, post-box shade of red is good for you? One thing I am sure about, is that seeing anyone you know whilst in this state is certainly the opposite of good!
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