Anyone who knows me will tell you that I HATE exercise. As I told someone on Twitter this week, I don’t do anything where you have to take off your clothes and get out of breath. Now I’m not stupid and I know that I really need to do some moderate exercise or my health will suffer. I’m really trying to get into the right frame of mind and I’m sure the dog would appreciate a 30 minute walk with me every day, but what makes me mad are the fitness martyrs.
These are the people who live for exercise and will bore you to death with it day after day on Twitter and Facebook. I have already mentioned the autotweets in another blog entry. I really don’t care how far they have walked, run, cycled or swum. I don’t see the point of using a little machine which tells the whole world about it either.
I have one such friend who lectured me about my lack of exercise. He has suffered multiple injuries to bone and muscle. In the past five years he has been to hospital A&E on occasions. I have not. He didn’t like it when I told him I would almost certainly be alive long after him (hope he doesn’t get the last laugh!)
I believe in moderation in everything. The contentment that brings will keep me in much more positive shape than eating salad leaves and running round the block five times a week. Another friend asked his heart consultant if he ate in a certain way and started running hard, would he live longer? The consultant replied that it was debatable whether he would but it would certainly feel like it.
That’s good enough for me.