It’s come to my attention that I’m a fat bastard.
I’ve been ignoring the evidence for some time, but it’s no longer possible. When I hauled my flubbery arse on to the scales just before Christmas, they broke. Warnings don’t come much clearer.
So: The new year diet (check) and the exercise regime (oh shit).
I hate exercise. Or rather, I hate the formal, trainers-and-gym-kit kind. Not just because it’s intensely boring and painful (although it is), but because it’s such a waste of time. And so fucking undignified.
There is always something more profitable, useful, helpful or intellectually worthwhile to be done than bobbing up and down on a cross-trainer blowing buckets of sweat and snot over passers-by.
Sadly, though, something has to give; otherwise I’ll be the Michelin man. Here, then, are the options.
Pros: It’s convenient(-ish). I can do an hour after work most days without buggering up my life too much.
Cons: See above. Plus I fucking hate it.
Pros: Nice scenery, less agonising than running/cross-training etc, less spiritually nihilistic.
Cons: Time-consuming. Requires serious timetable alteration and sacrifice to accommodate.
Pros: Like gym, fairly easy to fit into my timetable.
Cons: I loathe it. And I mean, really loathe it. Leaves me sweaty, dry-skinned and chlorinated. Plus you know you’ve effectively been wallowing in child’s piss (in British public pools, anyway). Just the thought makes me want to heave.
… by which I mean taking up something physical that’s also an entertainment. Dancing, for instance, which I used to be reasonably good at… and quite enjoyed.
Pros: Can be fun. Usually better with a partner or friend, though. Which is hard to arrange.
Cons: It’s difficult (and pricey) to do this sort of thing more than one night a week, which lowers its calorie-burning/exercise potential.
Conclusion: Haven’t reached one. The more I think about it, the longer I’m not doing anything – so it’s tempting to ponder longer.