234. The Idea of Exercise

If you are a sixth generation Irish woman with shoulders built for the potato harvest and a somnambulant metabolism, you have to take exercise or be on a perpetual 1000 calorie a day diet. Recently I have been doing neither, and as I don't like diets (they actually DO make you fatter in the end) I've been thinking about exercise.

I like the idea of running, but I don't like the pain from the tendinitis I've still got in my pointless, useless heel.

I like the idea of swimming, but I don't like swimming costumes, swimming hats, swimming goggles, swimming pools, verrucas or chlorine.

I like the idea of cycling, but I don't like the idea of being turned into jam by the 390 bus.

I like the idea of the gym but I don't like the idea of having to go at 6.30 in the morning.

What I really like is walking quite slowly to the pub. And herein lies my problem.

So I'll do some cycling, now that the weather's a bit better. It's 40 mins or so each way from town to Hammersmith which is a decent day's exercise. A bit of common sense keeps me from the wheels of the bus and a pump and an allen key deal with most mechanical problems. I think it's a shame that I can't be cool while I'm cycling, but it seems to be beyond me, so I"ll have to leave my ego at the door. But with any luck the cycling will keep the spread from spreading and I'll be able to go on eating nice food and drinking nice wine. That is my goal - no more, no less. So the idea of exercise becomes the much less adorable reality of exercise - a sweaty girl in neon and a silver mushroom head heaving a shabby black bike inelegantly from W1 to W6 twice a day. Life is so prosaic.