... and the new year's good intentions

I need to exercise. My body has become little more than vessel used for getting about, with my head perched on top, barking instructions to my arms and legs whilst chomping though vats of Cadbury's Roses. I need to get some of that mind-body thing going on. You know, give it a little attention, get a little tone.

Cashflow and work hours make it impossible to join the gym, or attend any kind of class. There's no swimming pool nearby, I get home too late to jog (and ew - jogging?), and it was looking like I was going to be trapped in my unfit, too-heavy, untoned prison indefinitely.

But then - hurrah! Inspiration struck.

My mum bought this stepper machine thing years ago. It has generally lurked around the back of the house with piles of paper on top, waiting to stub people's toes. Recently, it was moved to the outside gym area of the home, otherwise known as the side alley by the bins.

While I was at home over Christmas, I suddenly realised that the stepper could just turn my life around. Dad kindly retrieved it, cleaned it up, and put it in my car for me.

Perhaps it does not bode well that it took me four days to work up the motivation to take the contraption out of the car and carry it up the stairs to my flat.

I have had a tentative play with it - set it to 'easy' and embarked a brief step test. But then my flatmate came home and I got all embarrassed and didn't do any more.

So - steps completed so far - hmm. I would guess at about 20. I shall update. The thighs. They must go.