Gym'll Fix It
Now then, now then, this won't be a bad taste blog, but it will be about food... and the consequences.
I've always been a feeder. I get great pleasure from feeding anyone that steps foot into my home. The trouble is, I'm also an eater. Since puberty, I've battled my weight. I'm not meant to be skinny and I'm not built for speed - that's my position on the matter and I'm sticking to it.
I've decided to swap my serotonin source from chocolate to exercise. Not only will this be better for my figure, but I have it on very good authority that the more I exercise, the more I can eat. So squeezed into Lycra and looking a bit like a badly made sausage roll, I've taken advantage of my dear friend's gym membership and taken the plunge.
I've not been in a gym since I worked for a certain Dragon of Scottish descent. Even then, I was firmly behind the counter. My point? This is a huge step.
Dear lord, why would anyone think that people who clearly need the workout want to look at themselves in a mirror while they're doing it? High levels of lighting and women who look like they don't need to use the gym add to the intensity of self-consciousness.
I managed an hour on various machines (no idea what they're called but the pictures helped work out what they did) and then I treated myself to a swim - so far, no thoughts of food. Next to the pool are his-and-hers Jacuzzis. And it was while I was relaxing in the bubbles my mind turned back to food. The warm effervescence made me think of mashed potato (made with full cream milk and salted butter), not least because the neckline of my swimming costume coupled with the broiling froth brought Maris Pipers to mind. White spuds always make the best mash.
Diet fads are a minefield. In my time, I've tried plenty. The cabbage diet was probably the worst - for everyone. Healthy eating and a healthy lifestyle is definitely the way to go.
I made it home without visiting the M&S food hall next to the gym - frankly, that's just cruel, to challenge my resolve with their beautifully marketed meal deals and Colin the Caterpillar sweet bins.
The bible says Jesus fasted for 40 days: 40 minutes is my limit.I dream of food. I'll get up and get myself something in a minute, once I persuade my body to get moving again. Everything hurts.
I've always been a feeder. I get great pleasure from feeding anyone that steps foot into my home. The trouble is, I'm also an eater. Since puberty, I've battled my weight. I'm not meant to be skinny and I'm not built for speed - that's my position on the matter and I'm sticking to it.
I've decided to swap my serotonin source from chocolate to exercise. Not only will this be better for my figure, but I have it on very good authority that the more I exercise, the more I can eat. So squeezed into Lycra and looking a bit like a badly made sausage roll, I've taken advantage of my dear friend's gym membership and taken the plunge.
I've not been in a gym since I worked for a certain Dragon of Scottish descent. Even then, I was firmly behind the counter. My point? This is a huge step.
Dear lord, why would anyone think that people who clearly need the workout want to look at themselves in a mirror while they're doing it? High levels of lighting and women who look like they don't need to use the gym add to the intensity of self-consciousness.
I managed an hour on various machines (no idea what they're called but the pictures helped work out what they did) and then I treated myself to a swim - so far, no thoughts of food. Next to the pool are his-and-hers Jacuzzis. And it was while I was relaxing in the bubbles my mind turned back to food. The warm effervescence made me think of mashed potato (made with full cream milk and salted butter), not least because the neckline of my swimming costume coupled with the broiling froth brought Maris Pipers to mind. White spuds always make the best mash.
Diet fads are a minefield. In my time, I've tried plenty. The cabbage diet was probably the worst - for everyone. Healthy eating and a healthy lifestyle is definitely the way to go.
I made it home without visiting the M&S food hall next to the gym - frankly, that's just cruel, to challenge my resolve with their beautifully marketed meal deals and Colin the Caterpillar sweet bins.
The bible says Jesus fasted for 40 days: 40 minutes is my limit.I dream of food. I'll get up and get myself something in a minute, once I persuade my body to get moving again. Everything hurts.
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Thanks for ranting!