Gym-Phobia
July 23, 2008
Blast. I appear to be gym-phobic. Not exercise-phobic, don’t misunderstand. It’s just that Aberdeen is experiencing an unprecedented heatwave at the moment and I can’t bring myself to hole up in another dingy, air-conditioned warehouse to slog my guts out. I do enough of that at work (well, not physically, otherwise I wouldn’t be so hefty).
Instead, I’ve been dragging the boyfriend (I will eventually get around to calling him by his proper title, the fiance, when I get used to it) to the beach every night after work. Monday we played a round of mini golf followed by a 1.5 hour walk along the sea front. Yesterday we played more mini-golf, did a bit of walking, and then played two games of bowling. I’m not sure whether these really count as exercise, but since we were doing them enthusiastically, I suppose they’re at least more valid than sitting at home watching telly.
Tonight he’s purportedly doing a bed build which means we’ll be home late, tired and cranky. I hate being poor. I really do. On the upside, he’s just landed himself a new job so this will be the last week of builds. No more late nights, and no more takeouts when we can’t be arsed cooking. Sounds good to me.
I was reading over my old diet journal – the one where I had obsessive borderline anorexic tendencies – and was appalled to notice how quickly things spiralled out of control. One minute I was pootling along at 1000 calories per day and an hour of exercise…the next I was down to 98 calorie salads (which I would subsequently force myself to vomit up anyway), 6 pints of water, numerous headache tablets and neverending crunches performed at 4am when I couldn’t sleep for the sound of my stomach eating itself. The worst thing about it is, I’m wondering where on earth I got all that motivation from. Sometimes in my darker moments I occasionally wonder how much easier it would be if I was single. Until I remember how unhappy I was. What kind of a life is it when the most important thing, the most time consuming, is a number on the scale? Not one I want to live again, that’s for sure.
Anyway, I’m pinning a lot of hopes on September. I’m applying to places like crazy for active part time jobs (including the bowling alley/mini golf course which I frequent so often I should be given a free guest pass) and once I have more free time I’ll be able to fit in more exercise. That, and when my brain is being stimulated I’m a lot happier, and thus don’t eat from boredom. Work is a big stumbling block for me. When the most fun thing I do all day is ramble about my love handles (why are they called love handles anyway? No one has ever lifted me by them, loving intentions or not) you have to know you’re in the wrong place.
Also, why does celery make me feel sick? I’ve had an orange and a bunch of celery sticks for my lunch – due to bad planning – and now I feel sick. Why can’t things like crispy chili beef and chocolate Hobnobs make me feel sick? Then I’d be a lot less inclined to eat them. Oh for a perfect world…
