AtoZ: F is for Fitness Freak


My body is not a temple.

My body is an inner city slum.

There are sloths who take more exercise then I do.

Now I have a few options, I could move to a city filled with obese people against whom I will look positively sylphlike, I can find a time machine and go back tot he 1950s, or I can do something about it.

Honestly, the last option scares me more than moving to Outer Mongolia.

This morning I pulled on my trusty jeans and reached aimlessly for a shirt. Twenty minutes later the floor was covered in shirts that no matter of will or strength could close.

I was so depressed I went back to bed for an hour and bought a box of cream filled Twinkies on the way to work.

I know that those calories laden cream puffs are not going to help the situation, but biting into one made me feel better. Marginally. For about 10 minutes.

Then I drove past the billboard. The Billboard.

Pictured in life style splendor is a George Foreman type He-Man with his Rottweiler.

This guy promises me that I can lose 12 kgs in 6 weeks with a complete body transformation.

I need more than a body transformation, I need a miracle.

The thing is I am far too embarrassed to slink into a gym and admit my failings.

But when Spanx are no longer holding up to the job, it is time to take drastic measures.

So, I’ve emailed the scary man and his scary dog.

To put the whole situation in perspective I work with a potential Mr. South Africa and a bunch of rabid Cross Fit junkies. They burn more calories obsessing over what they eat then they do shimmying up ropes or whatever it is they do.

Apparently physical exercise will also help me get a handle on this depression. Now that I can barely drag myself out of bed to start with, I will have to commit to dragging myself to a gym full of buff and toned lycra bunnies. Horror.

I wonder if there’s hypnosis therapy designed to make you want to work out.

There should be.

Someone should definitely do something about that glaring gap in the market.

Oh bugger it. I’m going to eat the rest of my Twinkies.

Twinkies don’t judge.

Anyway, I have nothing to wear to the gym.

So there.





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