The Anti-Exercise Brigade of Doubts are out in force, running amok over the pitiful remains of my good intentions. I will never, ever exercise again. Even though I would like to, I have hit an insurmountable obstacle. The reason? I have what I thought was quite a mild cold but which has wiped me out. I feel like death warmed up, and spent much of the afternoon asleep, having shoved Eldest (who was off school with same ailment) in front of the television with strict instructions not to move.
Obviously now I rationalise it to myself, the clear certainty that this spells doom to my good intentions and I will never exercise again is possibly a LITTLE pessimistic. But I have form for giving up exercise because I get a cold: the pattern, repeated several times over twenty years, goes like this.
Cumulus Day One: I know, I'll exercise and get fit.
Cumulus Day Two, Three and Four: Aren't I doing well?
Cumulus Day Five: Oh no! I'm ill! Can't exercise today, can't get out of bed. Still, back to the treadmill tomorrow.
Cumulus Day Six: Yeah, tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.
Cumulus Day Eight: Still feel a bit poorly, better not do any exercise till I feel better.
Cumulus Day Twelve: Exercise? What's that again? I'm not sure, thinking about it makes me worried though, better eat some cake until I feel better.
Comfort food is what gets me through colds, I find. This is awkward too, given that the whole point is that I am meant to be - well, not dieting exactly, that spells willpower and lots of lecttuce - but, you know, cutting down on crap. Crap like those very nice McVities Digestives my husband bought me to assuage a complaint about the rubbish biscuits they have in NZ. I'm heroically avoiding them, and instead eating vast slices of the date and walnut loaf made for me by a kind friend. In between her marathon training. Yes, she is superhuman. Date and walnut loaf is healthy, right? ALMOST as good as exercising.
However, on the plus side I notice that on a day like today, when the gym was genuinely impossible, I am prone to think of exercise - gym or swim or class - with fond, romantic thoughts. I think "oh, wouldn't it be lovely to go for a swim" in the comfortable sort of way you think affectionately about seeing Great Uncle John, a distant and faraway relative living in another country. You can spend hours thinking about how nice it would be to see Great Uncle John. You can get quite maudlin about the way in which distance, time and finances divide you. And you totally forget the fact that he drives you mad and you can't spend more than ten minutes in the same room without wanting to bop him one. That's me and exercise today. An awfully good idea. When I'm well again, of course. Now, where's that date loaf?
Honestly, I do have good intentions of making it back to the gym or pool, at the point when I can hold a simple conversation and cross the room without needing to blow my nose on the way. Except that - as any of you with large families will know - it's not quite as simple. So far I have the bug, and so does Eldest. So he's off school. Middle and SmallButDetermined, however, show no signs of illhealth, which means we are trapped at the beginning of a cycle. They will both inevitably succumb, probably in turn, they will each need a day or two at home, and each will mean NO OPPORTUNITY TO GO TO THE GYM. The virus will probably mutate and my eldest will get it a second time. Husband is working late at the moment so evenings are a no-no. Unless, ha ha ha, I get up at 5.30 am and go swimming then. Ha ha ha ha. So possibly I shall be exercising again at the end of October.
No wonder so few Olympic athletes are parents. Now, where's that date loaf?
No comments:
Post a Comment