Oh, how I wished that I was one of those lucky souls who enjoyed exercising.
I think I've had phases of tolerating it to the extent that I got into the routine of going along to things that were not entirely loathsome and then quite enjoyed the positive effect that it had on my physical and mental wellbeing. But it is far, far easier to fall out of a routine than it is to get into one.
It's safe to say that I am not in any sort of routine at the moment. There is a gym a mere hop, skip and a jump away with a lovely pool and a whole array of exciting classes and I am struggling to motivate myself to get there. D keeps telling me that I should walk the half hour straight line between my house and my office rather than jumping on a bus. He is right of course. But walking along a main road is terribly dull. And, also, have I ever mentioned before the terrible problems I have with general balance and rightfootedness? Part of the issue is my weight distribution; I am essentially a Weeble - an almost perfectly spherical thing perched precariously on two little legs. I have to actually concentrate to resist the pull of gravity which would have me toppling forward at any given moment in time.
And part of the issue is very simply this - I am terribly, terribly lazy. I would, in all seriousness, list napping as one of my favourite pastimes - especially while being lulled by the dulcet tones of an audiobook or something soothing from Radio 4. D tells me that sleep doesn't really count as a hobby. I beg to disagree. I thought that when I hit my thirties I would finally grow out of my rather teenagerish sleep patterns, the ability to sleep until noon if left undisturbed. It has not happened yet and, the thing is, now that I live alone, I sometimes have very little motivation to rise from my rather comfortable bed.
The good folk at Weight Watchers obviously have encountered people of my ilk before as a part of the WW programme is a thing called Activity Points - essentially, if you exert yourself you earn bonus points which can, in turn, be scoffed. I've noticed a lot of people on the message boards laugh in the face of such gluttony - why, they say, would I go to the trouble of earning these points to then eat them? Why, say I, would you not? And Weight Watchers have gone one step further by inventing a pedometer that not only counts your steps but beeps every time you have shuffled far enough to earn one of these precious, precious points. I've been toying with the idea of buying one for ages but finally cracked on Friday and have been walking round with it clipped to me ever since - consulting it every so often to see how far I've walked. As motivaters go, it's surprisingly effective.
On Saturday, D and I took the pedometer out for a walk. There was a Gu chocolate ganache pot with my name on it in the fridge and, as I trotted, slightly sweaty and grim faced a few paces behind him, my ear was constantly cocked for the sound of the beep that would get me one step closer to guilt free pudding.
Oh, and there were some pretty spring flowers as well...
Although I must admit that sometimes I stop to take a photograph not so much because I am overcome by the beauty of nature but that I need to catch a breath or two...shhhhhhhh.