For the love of humanity! I’ve done 200 situps (in small bursts) and I am so. very. sore.
I had no idea I was quite so unfit – well, I probably did have realistic assessment of my fitness level, but had pushed it way way down in the dim, dark recesses of my brain.
Oh cruel fat, why do you mock me? And how did it get there without me noticing you? If I have to start walking to work I will be very sad indeed. Stupid exercise – I want diet pills (oh wait, they stopped putting amphetamines in them, didn’t they?).
I’ve decided that I would like to lose 15kg, I don’t know what that is in lbs – oh wait, there’s that convert me link in my sidebar….that’s 33lbs. I’d really like to lose 25kg and get back to the weight I was 3 years ago, but Nancy says emaciated is not a terribly good look for me (“ewwwwwww mummy, you looked disgusting”).
In other news, Fenton kindly gave me his cold and I am all phelgmy, so exercise is the last thing I want to do. Phelgm – such a fantastic and evocative word, yet so very revolting.
Now I’m off to bed with Jennifer Rowe in an attempt to stave off the phelgmy onslaught.