Off The Arse

The other day, I exercised (after a shameful 18-month spate of sitting on my arse). And it didn’t involve a TV remote, a tub of butter or anything resembling a donut. I had to yank a fair bit of cobweb off my running shoes but I did it. Four days in a row, in fact.  I know. I was practically an Olympian.

And then I crashed. And proceeded to sit on my arse for another two months. I fear I’m on the verge of another sofa-bound 18 months which might just be the thing that does me in and turns me into the size of a house.

So, to bring this sinister turn of events to a screeching halt, I have devised a 5-point action-cum-motivation plan:

AIM LOW
You know how people are always encouraging you to reach for the moon so even if you don’t reach it, you fall and land on the stars? Or something to that silly effect. I say bollocks to that. I aimed for the moon – four times, no donut – and look how that turned out. I believe the secret to success lies in aiming low. Aim to get off the arse twice, nay, once a week. And when you do get off the arse once a week, you’ve achieved success. Success, no matter how pathetic, bolsters the spirit and heartens the soul. And this success will springboard, nay, skyrocket you to a whole new level. I call this level Twice-A-Week, which will bring you to (dare I say) Thrice-A-Week, which is the number of times experts all around the world tell us to exercise each week. And to think it all began with aiming low.

CLICK LIKE
As with everything you’re going to be doing for a prolonged period of time, you have to like it. Or at least not hate it. Having a goal (“I’m going to lose 30kg in two months”) or an endpoint (“I’m going to run until the end of this farmhouse”) is useless. I know because I used to have them. And once I achieved them, that was it. I realise I could have set another goal but that wasn’t a pudding I felt like diving into. My point is, if you enjoy doing it, chances are much higher that you will continue doing it. Exercising, that is. What did you think I was talking about?

FEAR FACTOR
Nothing motivates like fear. Picture somebody you would rather die than look like. Preferably somebody you know in real life and not like, the fattest dude in the Guinness Book of Records or something. Every time you are tempted to blow off a workout, think of him/her and how it would feel to look like him/her and how you’d never want anyone to be picturing your body if they were tempted to blow off their own workout.

GO NUDE
Take a good look at yourself in the nude. Doing this usually elicits two responses: (1) wah lau, I look like a house/whale/elephant/insert name of any other generously sized creature, or (2) wah lau, I look damn freaking hot. If you think you look like a house/whale/elephant, you’re probably right. This should motivate you to exercise so that you do not continue to look like a house/whale/elephant. If, on the other hand, you think you look damn freaking hot, seeing yourself in the nude should motivate you to work at maintaining the hot body that you have so that you never ever wind up looking like a house/whale/elephant.

POINT FIVE
I never had a fifth point. I just think it’s bad luck to stop at four.

Self-Reliant vs Stuff-Reliant?

I need my stuff. In fact, I’ve come to realise that I can’t survive without my stuff. Guess I’m not the all-sufficient, super-person I fancy myself to be. Unlike people who constantly need people around them, I’ve always prided myself on not being that way – a little self-righteous, I suppose. I’ve always thought it grand that I can be by myself and enjoy time on my own. And yes, of course, I can … as long as I have my stuff.

Last weekend, I went for my usual morning run and to my horror, I discovered that I’d forgotten to bring my ipod. A sick, churning feeling set into the pit of my stomach. The dastardly churning was soon replaced by a sense of emptiness. I felt incomplete. I felt uninspired. I felt … like I wanted to turn around and go home. But I didn’t. I charged on anyway but it was unsettling. My mind was troubled. I had no tunes to focus on, so my mind went havoc, hopping from one thing to another (mostly work – what else?) like some bunny doped up on Prozac. Somehow, I managed to finish the route. Next time, I swear to god I’m sewing my ipod to my kidney.

Running isn’t the primal, lone ranger, no-equipment activity that everyone purports it to be (unless you’re an orang asli or a running purist or something). Purists would scoff at those who run with music – you’re not being “in the moment”, you’re not being “connected” to what your body is doing. For me, it’s simple: I must have this, this, this and this so that I can do that. Ah, the perils of modern society. We are under the impression that we’re becoming more and more self-reliant (hence, our individualistic, self-absorbed me-me-me attitudes) when in fact, we’re becoming less and less able to function without our stuff. Without our stuff, the experiences we have are perceived to be less rich, less fulfilling, less everything.

But like I said, I need my stuff. I’m a product of this society. It’s scary to not have my stuff with me. Without my stuff, all I have is … me. Egad. Which is why I’m amazed at people like, you know, monks who live in a temple in a mountain and they have no cable or wi-fi or whatever. They don’t “do” stuff, they can just “be” (whatever that means). I think if I were to just “be”, I’d go insane.

So the big question today is: do I want to be self-reliant or stuff-reliant? Should I try doing away with everything for say, a week, and see if I experience any epiphanies or should I just add to my already-bursting closet with even more stuff in the hopes that I’ll become more enriched and fulfilled – as artificial as that enrichment and fulfillment may be?

I think I’ll go with latter.

Hello, 2009 Bucket List. Remember Me?

Isn’t it funny how we are? I was just looking through my 2009 bucket list. Okay, before you flip out and jump to the conclusion that this is my Things-To-Do-Before-I-Kick-The-Bucket in 2009, let me explain why I’m using the term Bucket List (as inappropriate as it may appear to be):

• I don’t like the word ‘resolutions’. It’s too pompous, highfalutin. “Oooh, look at all my Resolutions, which I Resolve to do.” So serious, so strong, so resolute, so firm, so purposeful. Since I’m none of those things, I figured aiya, forget the Resolutions, honey.
• I like the word ‘bucket’. Okay, moving on!

So anyways, where was I? Oh yes, I was flipping through my journal (yes, I have one) and was looking at my January 2009 entry. I had lots of ‘buckets’ I wanted to kick. I had 8. And I say we’re funny because out of the 8, only one was related to work – a bucket which had already come to pass, though not in the exact way I’d envisioned (cue: Dan Gilbert and the great concept of synthetic happiness). The other 7 were related to a whole bunch of other stuff from hair to travelling to hiking, running to reading to um – yes, this is weird – moisturising (don’t ask).

But the point of this entry isn’t about my Buckets. It’s about how our priorities get screwed up too readily. It’s just strange that the things I really, truly wanted to do, which I had listed, weren’t the stuff I spent the majority of my time doing. Instead, 80% of my time is spent on the single work-related bucket (which shall, from henceforth, be referred to as Bucket No. 8), leaving me with 20% to spend on the other 7 buckets.

Isn’t that how life usually is? We have all these things we want to do and half of them aren’t even big grand things like conquering Everest. Half of them are just little regular things like say, catching up with a friend once a month or listening to a talk on www.ted.com once a week or whatever. But instead of channeling energy to these things, we let ourselves get swept up in the Great Tide of Life (more popularly known as the Great Tide of Work).

“I’ll get around to these buckets once Bucket No. 8 lets up,” we tell ourselves … but Bucket No. 8 never lets up. That’s why it’s called Full-Time Employment.

So what’s the moral of the story? I’ll give it to you:

1. Don’t wait until things let up to do what’s important to you. There will never be a perfect time. Being a perfectionist suffering from bouts of OCD, this is hard for me to grasp, but I’m learning.
2. Work is work. Work is not life. For someone like me who has all the textbook symptoms of one who’s veering dangerously on the edge of workaholism, this is a mantra I need to keep repeating. My ex-boss used to say, “Life is short and then you die.” That’s a piece of really good advice, don’t you think?
3. Keep up the lists; they’re good things. The concept of list-making has won itself many advocates and, at the same time, detractors. IMHO though, they do work. Sure, I may not have done all that stuff I’d listed early this year (not yet anyway), but my list exists to remind me that I still have half a year left and hey, honey, get cracking. If nothing else, it’s a great reminder.

I’m Delusional And I’m Liking It!

It’s official. I am suffering from DSS: Delusional Disorder Syndrome. That’s the only plausible explanation for why I just did what I did. What did I do, you ask? Um, I signed up for the Penang Bridge International Marathon. (Loyal reader: “Cheh, big deal …”) Wait, wait, I’m not done. I signed up for the PBIM 21K. (Loyal reader: “21?? You siau or what? Lu ai si ah??”)

See, I’m right: I am a crazy person. Not only do I suffer from DSS, I also suffer from a chronic case of DFFOL (Do First, Freak Out Later). I’ve had it ever since I was a child. Some people admire this – they call it a sense of exuberance, passion and boundless enthusiasm. Some people just think I’m plain nuts.

I’m beginning to be convinced that I may fall into the latter category. I was filled with exuberance, passion and boundless enthusiasm when I happily keyed in my credit card information and registered myself online. The reality of what I did didn’t sink in until oh, a few days later when I suddenly realised three things:

1. The 21K starts at 3am, which means we have to be at there at 2am. Omg.
2. 21K is very, very f-a-a-a-a-a-a-r. It’s 52.5 loops around a 400m track! It’s from PJ to Damansara! It’s 21,000m! Okay, now I’m freaking out.
3. The qualifying time for 21K is three hours, which means I’m supposed to run that whole distance in three hours or less. I’ve never even walked 21K and now I’m going to run it?? Omg.

But you know what? I think that thinking is the enemy. Which is why I plan to put a stop to thinking. That’s right. I’m going to stop thinking. Forever. It has brought me nothing but grief – the vicious cycles of over-analysis, tortuous self-debates, why this why that, what if this what if that … I’ve discovered that the more I think, the more self-doubt creeps in. Doubts like:

• Are you sure this isn’t just another one of your harebrained schemes to prove something to the world?
• You’re not as tough as you think la, remember that time when [insert unfortunate incident here]?
• Even [insert friend’s name here] is only doing the Fun Run, you think you’re better than him/her/them meh?
• What if you wind up Last in the race? Really no face la, especially since you went and announced it on your blog like a big shot!
• Eh, it’s very intimidating to run with real marathoners, you know. These people are fast!
• What if you get a headache / stomachache / toothache / leg ache / bad hair day? How to run like that?
• You’re jumping the gun la. You should wait until you’re ready and sure you can do it before going out there and embarrassing yourself and your mother / father / brother / sister / dog / cat.

Yeah, these thoughts plague me every now and then. But being a sufferer of DSS, DFFOL and an avowed anti-thinker, I’m able to rise above these debilitating thoughts. So I’m here to say yes, I will be attempting the 21K and I will finish it and I will look back and be glad I did it.

Running Quotes Guaranteed To Get You Off Your Butt

I love quotations … I’m sure you can tell if you’ve read my About My Blog page. Being a person who’s pretty obsessed with words, I’m constantly amazed at how such great truth and insight can be squeezed into one tiny little sentence, making it so powerful that it can transform the way you view something forever.

Since I’m masquerading around like a somewhat health-conscious, fit person in my blog (I wonder how many people I’ve managed to fool so far), I’m going to take it one step further and share with you some quotes that motivate me or simply make me laugh.

8) It’s mental until you pass out; then it’s physical.
I don’t know who said this but hahahaha! And you know why it’s so funny? Cos it’s true!!!

8) The miracle isn’t that I finished; but that I had the courage to start. John Bingham
Being the author of books like ‘Marathoning for Mortals’, ‘The Courage to Start’ and ‘No Need for Speed’, you know this guy is rooting for the non-super human athletic machines.

8) There are clubs you can’t belong to, neighbourhoods you can’t live in, schools you can’t get into, but the roads are always open. Nike
Nike always has the most amazing lines and this is one of my favourites. It’s so powerful: running is the great equaliser. It’s just something everyone can do.

8) Run like you stole something. Daniel Farrow
Haha, this is funny. It’s a good trigger, isn’t it? Just imagine the ISA coming after you with tear gas.

8) Are you going to be a wimp or are you going to be strong today? Peter Maher
I like his no-nonsense approach: wuss, weakling, baby, lousy good-for-nothing crap of a … sorry, I’m getting a little carried away.

8) Pain is temporary; quitting is forever. Lance Armstrong
When you’ve had testicular cancer and have staged a mighty comeback to win the Tour de France seven times in a row, whatever you say is gold.

8) Run if you can, walk if you have to, crawl if you must, just never give up. Dean Karnazes
At the end of the day, it’s not going to matter if you ran, walked or crawled past the finish line … but once you give up, you’re going to have to live with that sorry fact for the rest of your life. That’s gotta suck.

8) Your slowest run is still faster than sitting on the couch.
I’m going to start telling myself this whenever I feel bad for not pushing myself hard enough or if some fat-arse makes fun of me. I’m just gonna say, “Hey fatty, I may be slow but I’m still faster than your big fat good-for-nothing crap of a … oops sorry, getting carried away again.

8) N-n-now that that don’t kill me can only make me stronger. Kanye West
Yup, as long as I don’t die, I’m getting stronger, faster, better, smarter … unless I die, of course, which would then make this kinda depressing.

8) You never regret a run. There’s hardly anything in life you can say that about. You’ll regret a chocolate sundae. www.webmd.com
This is my all-time favourite. I’ve never regretted dragging myself out of bed to go for a run but I’ve always regretted sleeping in, and let’s not even start on the chocolate sundae!

7 Reasons Why Running Is Fun!

I get up early this morning to go to the nearby patch of grass (which they try to pass off for a park) to run around a bit but what do you know? It starts to rain! Since I’m rained out, I use the time to blog about running, as opposed to actually doing it. So here they are – 7 reasons why I think it’s fun to run:

1. IT’S FREE! To date, I’ve not spent more than RM3,000 on my little hobby. No. Wait. Don’t persecute me just yet. They were all essentials okay: clothes, shoes, ipod, diamond-studded water bottle (just kidding). Hery, this was over a period of like, you know, a really really long time. Think: if you join the gym, it’s RM180 per month. Multiply that by 12 mths, that’s RM2,160. Two years and that’s RM4,320! So expensive right? Some more, you have to pay one; it’s not a choice (that is, not a choice if you want to go to the gym and not get thrown out on your sorry butt). My 3K was a choice … I want to look nice ma. See? I’m paying for peripherals out of vanity; the activity itself (whether running or hiking) costs next to nothing.

2. IT GIVES YOU NICE LEGS AND A GREAT BUTT. I should know. I’ve seen plenty of pictures of people who run who have really nice legs and really great butts. This reason alone is worth all the pain!!

3. IT MAKES YOU SPECIAL. People who run are very special and the country needs more people like this. Hey, it’s way better than spending all your time mall-hopping or pub-crawling or sleeping around with random strangers right? Everybody in Malaysia does this (what else to do?) but how many people exercise? According to national stats, 6 out of every 10 Malaysians are inactive. So, as one who exercises, you’re automatically in the 40%. And the way MOH defines being “active” – even a person who plants vegetables in the garden or mops the floor is “active” wor … so that bumps you up further into the 10% of folks who actually exercise in the real sense of the word. And even they brisk walk at most, so if you run, imagine how very (x100) special you must be!

4. IT MAKES YOU LOOK GOOD. People like to ask, “So what you do in your spare time?” and then, they judge you based on your answer. For example:

• “So Ah Moi, what you do in your spare time?” … “I eat.”
  Judgement: slothful, gluttonous, spends weekends sweeping the trophies at Ramly burger eating competitions.
• “So Ah Moi, what you do in your spare time?” …”I run.”
  Judgement: so healthy, so fit, so stamina, so smokin’ hot body.
• “So Ah Moi, what you do in your spare time?” … “I read.”
  Judgement: smart and sexy in a librarian-type of way (readers are an even rarer breed than runners – the 2005 National Library study showed that Malaysians only read 2 books a year!!). Problem is, this may then lead to, “So Ah Moi, what books you read?”. So if your shelf consists of paperbacks with long-haired, shirtless men named Fabio on the covers, I suggest you demure at this point.

5. IT’S HEALTHY. Running raises HDL, lowers LDL, improves cardiovascular fitness, builds up bone density thanks to all the pavement-pounding, burns a lot more calories than walking, etc.

6. IT MAKES YOU HAPPY. Research shows that people who run are happier and less stressed than people who spend their time eating potato chips and watching reruns of Miami Vice. It releases endorphins, which make you go all high – like drugs but in a good way.

7. IT GIVES YOU A SENSE OF ACCOMPLISHMENT. Running is not easy. Many times, it’s hard and sometimes, it downright sucks. That’s coming from someone like me; not some crazy dude who racks up 30km running from SS2 to KL every day (those people are insane). Speaking as a pseudo-runner, I can testify that it’s tough. But that’s what makes it worthwhile – despite it being tough, I still make myself do it. And after I’m done, I don’t remember how hard it was; just how happy I am that I did it.

[Pics by Stock.XCHNG]

5 Ways To Motivate. That. Ass.

I was really motivated to exercise at one point. I mean, REALLY. I was literally on a high. Not only would I dedicate a whole hour to exercising every single day, I daydreamed about it when I wasn’t doing it, was excited about waking up the next day to do it, journalled about it, googled and youtubed it and just soaked it all in. Yes, I know. I was insane. Unfortunately, that was last year and my drive went kaput when I joined my present company (where I became suicidal and instead of exercising, spent most of my time trying to decide which blunt instrument I could use to knock myself unconscious).

My terminal funk went on for six months. Now that I’m out of it, I’m trying to get back on that exercise wagon but the challenge is: how do you motivate that ass (the ass being you) when you’re not feeling particularly motivated/ inspired/ excited/ enthusiastic? It’s easy to get moving when you’re feeling motivated/ inspired/ excited/ enthusiastic but hello, when you’re not, it’s damn hard. So here they are: my tips to help you Motivate. That. Ass. Tried and tested.

1 DON’T THINK

For me, exercise is purely mental. It’s not about building muscle; it’s about winning the battle with the Syaitan of Sloth (otherwise known as SoS). Before I even get off my ass, the SoS comes and starts playing with my mind. I’d think about how I’d feel if I exercised: would I enjoy it? How I’d feel after: would I be happy? What would happen if I chose to stay in bed: would I regret it? How I’d feel doing something else instead: I can use this time to go to work earlier! After all, got so many things to do wor. And etc etc etc. And many times, the evil SoS wins. I wind up thinking so much that I end up crawling back into bed and not doing anything. And it just goes on and on … and that’s why I believe the key here is: DON’T THINK, JUST DO. Thinking is over-rated. You know the saying: 80% of success is showing up. That’s so true of exercise. 80% is getting off your ass; 20% is moving it.

2 SET ONE ALARM ONLY

Okay. Confession time: I have these horrible pre-set alarms – six of them. I have a 6.00 am, 6.30 am, 7.00 am, 7.30 am, 8.00 am and an 8.30 am. So, you already can guess what I do, right? I turn all of them on before I sleep. In the morning, the 6.00 am goes off. Toot toot toot toooooooot. I turn it off, go back to sleep. 6.30 am goes off. I turn it off, go back to sleep. 7.00 am goes off … you get the idea. On and on it goes until 8.30 am. This time, I really wake up because I know there are no more alarms left ma … and that’s why I believe the key here is: get rid of all the alarms and SET ONE ALARM ONLY. Duh.

3 AND MAKE IT WEIRD

Forget the nicely rounded 7.00 am or 7.30 am. For some reason, your brain will process 7.00 am as, “Eesh, so early … baru a minute ago was 6-something … can sleep some more. Snore.” And your brain will process 7.30 am as, “Eesh, still early what … not even 8 yet … can sleep some more. Snore.” And that’s why I believe the key here is: SET A WEIRD ALARM. Confuse your renegade brain by setting it at 7.43 am. It’s almost 8 so it’s like you’re kinda late and it’s too far from 6-something, so you’re not early.

4 HAVE A MANTRA

I saw this saying on www.webmd.com last year, which goes, “You never regret a run. There’s hardly anything in life you can say that about. You will regret a chocolate sundae.” Isn’t that great? I love it!!!

5 DON’T BE A TERRORIST

Terrorists are all-or-nothing people. They either love you (and will therefore, devote their lives to you) or hate you (and will therefore, blow you up). Okay okay, so I don’t actually know any terrorists, but I needed an analogy and couldn’t come up with anything else. Besides, terrorists are hot right now.

Anyways, I’m also all-or-nothing. I’m either all black or all white. All happy or all miserable. I either buy nothing or buy half a dozen of one thing. I have no middle ground. Unfortunately, I’m also like this with exercise. I’m either doing a solid one-hour every day or a solid nothing on none of the days. Middle ground would be say, 20 minutes three times a week. Yeah, I’m not so good with that. This is a problem because it means I either exercise every day like a crazy person or I sit on my ass every day drinking coffee, facebooking, blogging and youtubing (which incidentally, is what I do these days – I love it, btw!!!). But you know how they say that something better than nothing? Yeah, I need that middle ground. I read somewhere about perfectionists being the worst procrastinators. They will put off doing something because they fear they won’t be able to do it perfectly, so in the end, they do nothing. Omg. That’s so me!!! And that’s why I believe the key here is: DON’T BE A TERRORIST.

Must. Get. Off. Ass.

This picture motivates me to exercise. It’s a pic of me 9 years ago when I was studying abroad and gorging on pizzas and cheese and butter buns every day. I never realised how um, tubby I’d become until I came back to Malaysia where all the girls resembled toothpicks. Anyways, this pic worked pretty well in the motivation dept for a while but lately, I’ve been slacking off so I’m taking it out again to stare at it. Must. Get. Off. Ass. And. Exercise. Argh!!!!

Give Me Skinny or Give Me Death

I am a lousy conformist, that’s what I am. Despite my self-righteous diatribes about standing up for my principles and being the unwavering Rock of Gibraltar when it comes to staying put in the face of popular opinion, I confess that I’m secretly feeble-minded.

Exhibit A: I can rant for hours about how skinniness does not equate beauty but at the same time, I fret whenever I feel the waistband of my jeans cut into a lump of flesh that seemed to have developed overnight. A slight bulge is enough to send me into a wild tailspin. My mind is instantly deluged with desperate schemes to lose the excess flab – from eating a raisin a day to working the treadmill for two hours a day until I lose the weight or drop dead (whichever decides to come first).

I’m ashamed. I’m ashamed because I feel happy when people come up to me and say, “Oh my god. You’ve lost weight!” I nonchalantly reply, “No lah, it’s just that I look thinner in the dark with these strobe lights.”

I’m ashamed to admit that it thrills me to hear, “Aiya, where got fat? You’re so blardey skinny!” Of course, no one can accuse me of being a stick insect but this thrills me none the less.

Or the common, “Fine. You show me exactly where your flab is. Show me!”, after which I proceed to pinch about a bucket of lard from the folds of my stomach. They then go, “Aiya, that’s what you call flab? I’ll show you what real flab is!”

I don’t think you want to know how the rest of the story goes (not unless you’re bulimic and wretching is something you enjoy). Besides, this is irrevelant to my point.

My point is, I’m weak. I cave into the opinion of the masses. I may proclaim that beauty lies within, that physical beauty fades but true beauty lasts forever and all that jazz, but I have left out the fine print: beauty lies within… for other people; physical beauty fades but true beauty lasts forever… for other people. Not for me.

Give me long, slim legs and silky long hair and flawless skin and a knockout figure. Give me a brilliant white smile, sparkling eyes and a 24-inch waist. Give me a swanlike neck, delicate ankles and a behind that can stop traffic.

Of course, charisma, intelligence and confidence are important. I’m not denying that. I want those things too. I work hard at those things. But losing a few points of my IQ will never be as enormous a catastrophe as, say, newly discovered orange peel on my butt.

So because I’m weak, I shall continue going to the gym in hopes that I will one day be the proud owner of a body that resembles Halle Berry’s. Because I’m not strong enough to tell the world to “Put a sock in it! A little pudge never hurt anyone!!”, I’ll continue to stand sideways in front of the mirror and spin into a panic at every little bit of protruding flesh. Because I’m weak, I will resist the mad urge to devour that last piece of chocolate mud pie. Because I don’t have the guts to go through life with excess weight and not give a rat’s arse what people think.

My Love Affair With Monsieur Gym

In my oblong leather purse sits my gym membership card. It’s a symbol of my commitment. It represents determination, discipline, motivation, rebirth, a reincarnation of the mind, body, soul, spirit…

…Oh, stop waxing lyrical and let’s be Frank here (we can be Lucy tomorrow – hahaha!).

My gym card is just a piece of plastic that simply means that money is taken out of my bank account every month so that I can crawl through the jam at 6.30 every morning, pay two bucks for parking, sweat my butt off on a machine, stretch my body until my flesh split, shower in a locker room with a gaggle of middle-aged housewives exchanging siew pau recipes and fight with other wet-haired girls for the hairdryer.

Vanity, vanity… all is vanity.

This love affair of mine is not unique. It’s triggered by the shocking revelation that:

a) my metabolism has, for some bizarre reason unknown to man, plummeted to new depths. Depths that I never even knew existed. Depths lower than a snake’s belly.

b) which means that I can no longer stuff three bags of Chickadees down my throat and still fit into my skinny jeans

c) which means that if I ignore this situation, there’s a high chance I’d wind up looking like Gutsy Girl (before she sat on the thief and became the ambassador of a slimming centre)

d) which means that I have to peel myself off my swivel chair and participate in this activity most people call exercise

e) which means I have to join the gym because I find it impossible to warm up to the concept of running around in circles at the playground

So I joined the gym. I went in every single day. My gym card began to smoke because I swiped it so much. I worked my ass off on every one of them big machines. Then I fell sick, took a break and never went back. I lasted a grand total of three months.

After my glorious failure, I was eaten up by shame. I was such a disgrace. I couldn’t bring myself to go back. Going back would be tantamount to admitting that I was wrong and that I needed the gym. I was too proud. So I did what anybody would do after coming out of an intense love affair – I went on the rebound.

I bought a treadmill. I called one of those Smart Shop numbers on TV and ordered an Ab Trainer (it guaranteed rock-hard abs in just 30 seconds a day!). I bought several sets of dumb bells. I bought a whole lot of stuff, all of which I never used.

It was when I caught myself mulling over a slimming advert and wondering how many inches I could shave off my thighs that I realised how much I wanted him back.

I wanted my gym back. The track pants sticky with perspiration. The squishy water bottle. The locker key with the number tag. The fluffy face towel. I wanted them all back.

And most of all, I wanted the card back.

Now, when I look at my card, I’m reminded of my renewed commitment. This time, things will be different. This time, I won’t bail out. This time, it will last.

Forever.