Seems to be back. Three posts in as many days.
So, today, I am going to talk about exercise. Or, in my case, the lack of it.
Up until moving back to Sweden, I had become a bit (okay, a little bit) of an exercise freak. On any given day you would see me jumping up and down to my Beverley Callard (Corrie’s Liz McDonald) video (yes, video – it’s about a hundred years old), face a putrid purple, sweating like a chav in Poundland.
Not a pretty sight.
But, it helped keep mid-life spread at bay and it made me feel like I had accomplished something (other than giving myself a hernia).
But, after being here for just one short month, I have already got enough spare tyres to put Pirelli out of business.
I don’t do a great deal, you see. Other than spend most of my day sitting at a keyboard. And eating cake. That’s the problem with suddenly not working (in a “proper” job, that is) – you have time to crave cake. And time to bake it.
I was strong, so strong. For all of a week. Kept up with my rabbit-food munching, didn’t touch bread (and if I did, it was multi-grain) and walked a fair bit. But now, I have slipped well and truly out of what I call “The Zone”.
Swedish people are notoriously fit. They do aerobics classes for fun. Can you imagine?
But, that said, a lot of the food the Swedes eat is not that healthy. The love they have for sausage (every kind you can think of) borders on obsessional and as for cheese, well, let’s not go there. The difference is that they eat a balanced diet. For every sausage they eat, three carrots are consumed. They have unique ways of eating their veggies, too: 101 ways to cook an artichoke being one of my particular favourites.
So, for the last three weekends, I have told myself that when Monday comes around, I will start meeting up with my old pal Bev again. And as yet, I haven’t.
But, next Monday is going to be different. I can feel it in my bones (well, my knees, to be precise).