Sabotage
Those of you who haven't been aware of me for more than a few months probably do not quite realise how momentous this new exercise thing is.
Those of you who do know me are probably still batting away the flashing lights and revolving on your office chairs after reading the initial posts about me embarking on an exercise thing in the first place.
I have wanted to incorporate exercise into my life for years. I may chuckle to myself when I float in the bath looking like an I'm auditioning for the part of 'bloated corpse in lake' for Silent Witness, but I loathe my pasty, untoned flesh, and hanker endlessly for a toned physique. I've had a little fling with aerobics, I even went swimming once, but I've never actually managed to sustain a stable relationship with physical fitness before (unless you count the hundreds of pounds I frittered on that tart Fitness First. But I don't want to talk about that, it makes me feel dirty).
Thanks to every humiliating sports day I ever suffered through, every time I was picked last, the sterling efforts of Ms Lashem (I kid you not), Mrs Wilke, and the evils of rounders, hockey, athletics, football, netball, tennis, and the bloody Ping! *run up the playground* Ping! *run down the playground* Ping! *get out stopwatch, place fingers on wrist, monitor heart-attack, dry-wretch* bastard fitness test thing, I HATE sport. Hate it hate it hate hate hate hate it.
I don't understand watching the stuff either - why would anyone want to look at a bunch of overpaid thickos they don't know boot a bag of air about, hopefully into a bigger bag? Or defend some bits of wood from a horrid, hurtling little leather-bound ball by clobbering it with a big bit of wood?
Ooh, and rounders. Don't even get me started on rounders. Teenagers should not be allowed to hurl chunks of skin-bound wood at other teenagers who have nothing but a narrow stick to defend themselves with. Madness! Thank god I was excused from PE for the last term of school. Well, my anaemia played havoc with my ability to perform as goal defence (best netball position ever - no running, not your fault if the ball goes in the net).
So now I am 28 years old, and I have this running thing going on. I accept that it's running or a life of sex by candlelight, and I get nervy about things going up *snigger*
But I seem to be sabotaging myself with artery-busting cuisine. Even though I keep thinking - baked potato! Salad! I end up heaping ladles of grilled macaroni cheese onto huge stacks of chips in the canteen. I'm drinking sugary JD and coke like a crazy bitch, and I can't stop thinking about chocolate flapjacks. I have been going out running every day, but seem to be consuming as much sugar and fat as I can by way of compensation. I am currently tackling a huge, butter-icing covered cake that has somehow found its way onto my workstation, through absolutely no fault of my own.
I think it will be OK in the end. Like the not-very-long runs, it's less about the actual exercise, and more about getting my mind used to the idea. So far, although I acknowledge my need for physical exercise, I am not mentally prepared to become one of 'those' people yet, and am smothering the good intentions underneath a tumbling mountain of spring rolls, Easter eggs, crisps, cashews, cheese and lager.
Ah well, baby steps. Pass the Battenburg.
Those of you who do know me are probably still batting away the flashing lights and revolving on your office chairs after reading the initial posts about me embarking on an exercise thing in the first place.
I have wanted to incorporate exercise into my life for years. I may chuckle to myself when I float in the bath looking like an I'm auditioning for the part of 'bloated corpse in lake' for Silent Witness, but I loathe my pasty, untoned flesh, and hanker endlessly for a toned physique. I've had a little fling with aerobics, I even went swimming once, but I've never actually managed to sustain a stable relationship with physical fitness before (unless you count the hundreds of pounds I frittered on that tart Fitness First. But I don't want to talk about that, it makes me feel dirty).
Thanks to every humiliating sports day I ever suffered through, every time I was picked last, the sterling efforts of Ms Lashem (I kid you not), Mrs Wilke, and the evils of rounders, hockey, athletics, football, netball, tennis, and the bloody Ping! *run up the playground* Ping! *run down the playground* Ping! *get out stopwatch, place fingers on wrist, monitor heart-attack, dry-wretch* bastard fitness test thing, I HATE sport. Hate it hate it hate hate hate hate it.
I don't understand watching the stuff either - why would anyone want to look at a bunch of overpaid thickos they don't know boot a bag of air about, hopefully into a bigger bag? Or defend some bits of wood from a horrid, hurtling little leather-bound ball by clobbering it with a big bit of wood?
Ooh, and rounders. Don't even get me started on rounders. Teenagers should not be allowed to hurl chunks of skin-bound wood at other teenagers who have nothing but a narrow stick to defend themselves with. Madness! Thank god I was excused from PE for the last term of school. Well, my anaemia played havoc with my ability to perform as goal defence (best netball position ever - no running, not your fault if the ball goes in the net).
So now I am 28 years old, and I have this running thing going on. I accept that it's running or a life of sex by candlelight, and I get nervy about things going up *snigger*
But I seem to be sabotaging myself with artery-busting cuisine. Even though I keep thinking - baked potato! Salad! I end up heaping ladles of grilled macaroni cheese onto huge stacks of chips in the canteen. I'm drinking sugary JD and coke like a crazy bitch, and I can't stop thinking about chocolate flapjacks. I have been going out running every day, but seem to be consuming as much sugar and fat as I can by way of compensation. I am currently tackling a huge, butter-icing covered cake that has somehow found its way onto my workstation, through absolutely no fault of my own.
I think it will be OK in the end. Like the not-very-long runs, it's less about the actual exercise, and more about getting my mind used to the idea. So far, although I acknowledge my need for physical exercise, I am not mentally prepared to become one of 'those' people yet, and am smothering the good intentions underneath a tumbling mountain of spring rolls, Easter eggs, crisps, cashews, cheese and lager.
Ah well, baby steps. Pass the Battenburg.
posted by Elizabeth at 6:39 PM
5 Comments:
LOL. You poor thing. But fear not! This is just your bod's final desperate whatsit. Once you've been doing the going faster thing for a while it'll realise the going faster thing is permanent then it'll turn into a drill sargeant and start making you go faster of its own accord.
And then pretend like it was never that interested in the beer and cake in the first place.
Also, not that you would but never have a big plate of spag bog then go to karate class. I warned her but no. There was spatter.
...spatter?
Oh deary deary me.
Does porrige count as healthy if you put two sachets of sugar and a pinch of salt in it? And wash it down with a cup of sugary tea? Mmm. Sugary.
LOL Elizabeth.
And, sugar on porridge???
I come from a good Scots background and am retching at the thought :)
Hoorah!! *does a small desktop dance* finally another woman who knows about the evils of exercise and increased fat consumption. At the moment i am feeling like steel-willed stella cos i gave away the malteasers i had in my desk draw - i tried to convince myself that they were there as the ultimate test but every time i reached for another envelope - there they were, goading me, seducing me as only malteasers can... so i bit the bullet and gave them to the fabulously thin bird in my office.... however, the 2 bowls of amazing latte macchiato ice-cream last night and the curry i ate for lunch are still sitting in a roll of flab that somethimes rests on my desk if i have the chair too close.... oh well, aerobics for me tonight, followed by a bowl of custard with minstrels....... *sigh* and a bag of ice for my scarily puce face.
Mmm...curry & icecream...delicious...
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