I'm so busy at work at the moment that I have to keep taking 'breath breaks'. These are similar to fag breaks but rather than tabs involve having to take myself off to the loo to centre myself, breathe deeply and decide which item on my to do list is more urgent. The fact that I am taking five minutes out of my oh-so-hectic schedule to update my blog says more about my ability to multitask and prioritise than anything about my workload. Anyway, the Christmas countdown has begun, and with it the onlsaught. The month ahead is set to be a blur of client lunches, friendly (read pissed) catch-up supper with mates and work functions all offset with my 'praying mantis on a treadmill' punishing gym routine. Funny choice of word, punishing. Odd to think that you (I) would actively 'treat harshly or roughly' yourself (myself) in pursuit of health, vitality and, let's be honest here, a flatter stomach. Mind you, I've never denied that I exercise for vanity and sanity in equal measure.
Which brings me on to one of my favourite rants. Other people can stuff their faces on chocolate, crisps, lard sandwiches and greazy kebabs without putting on a pound while lovely little me only has to think of a Malteser for my roll of belly flab to hang further over my trousers. And I exercise more than anyone I've ever met. I'm like the Jesus of the running machine! I jog endlessly so that others may gauge without their midriffs expanding. Think of me next time you pop a Pringle.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment