Most of us average humans who are aware of the effect of perfect-bodied models on our lazy but low self-esteemed minds have a fiery relationship with body- maintanance and work outs.
The electric, passionating combustive self-consuming relationship in my life, as much as I’d like to say is with my boyfriend
Is in actuality with that enticing whore they call working-out.
Think I’m exaggerating?
I want this, because some people have it, I’ve read about it, and it will bring me so much satisfaction and pleasure. I can wake up in the morning and feel brand new because of the invigorating feeling he gives me.
Who he? Yes I talk to my neglected yoga mat.
But then, some days I just don’t want to face the world, everything is so difficult and I’m exhausted, and his needs are so very physically and psychologically draining.
He makes me work, and while I don’t deny the pleasure from it, sometimes cuddling up against a more stable predictable boyfriend is desirable yes?
Succumbed to my need for fluff and comfort, when I wake up with candy floss in my hair beside a giant lazy male-me and tubs of ice-cream we ordered from room service in giggling fits; I feel shame crawl over my skin.
How do I come home to you?
I check my phone, and there you are staring at me with a disparaging rebuke : “7daychallenege reminder: You haven’t worked out in three days! Go catch up now!”
Guilt trips, hate trips, and when I finally shamefacedly crawl into your presence, you leave me burning and spent on the floor after seven minutes of punishing ordeal.
Not kidding though, the seven minute routines from LumoWell are amazing.
But then, it all depends on your mental strength. I worked out for 7mins and the app told me I burnt 131 calories.
Happy with myself, I opened the refrigerator, and dug out an ice cream.
To the apps credit, I did check the calorie-level on it for the first time in my life.
130 calories/100 ml it said.
Balancing it on one still-wobbly-from-workout arm and my phone on the other, I began walking.
Somewhere along the way, life decided to test my priorities and I realised I was going to have to drop either the icecream or my nice unscratched smartphone.
I dropped the phone, sat on the ground where it fell, finished my icecream and wrote an awfully long piece about the futility of self-hate and my love for icecream and exercise.