I did my first exercise in three weeks last night - a short run through the neighbourhood. I've been recovering from something - a virus probably, but who knows after the places I've been, the food I've eaten (please, no more camel burger), the parasites in the water, the mosquitos in the air.
Something made me very sick and now I find myself hauling my overweight and unfit carcass under cover of darkness so as to burn a few calories, get some aerobic capacity back ready before the next BIG swell and to try to forget the inherent "difficulties" of my life as an employed. literate adult in a safe, clean, first world environment.
When I say exercise, I'm not talking track records here. No. Even Nana Brine could overtake me on her wheeled zimmer frame thingee that the Veterans' Department bought her, (being a war widow and all.)
As I dodge poorly lit lycra commuters astride carbon fibre devices I can only ponder the four words my doctor asked when I went to see her about getting better, "Why you so fat?"
She's a serious little bugger who looks like she runs marathons and has never tried mixing dark chocolate, honeycomb and extra cream ice cream together, washed down with a double shot mocha-cino.
She probably meant, "You can't keep eating like a starved zombie when you are doing nothing but dozing all day", but it was lost in translation. I paid her for the encouraging words anyway. (I'm sure she could have caught and wrestled me to the ground if I did a"runner".)
Ohh I hate you chocolate with your silky texture and delightful lift to my flagging spirits especially when you mingle with biscuit or ice cream. You know I have no will power against your organic might (unless you contain milk). You are a worthy adversary. I salute you. I love you chocolate.
And so I repair to the streets again to run off some more calories before visiting my serious little doctor. If you see me, please do not feed me.
I hear ya!
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