My husband is one of those incredibly annoying people who can never do things in half measures. When he decides to get fat, he applies himself diligently to crisps, Ginsters pasties and bottles of wine to ensure maximum calorie intake. On the flipside, once he's reached critical mass, something will trigger a backward swing. Out go the pork pies and curry extravaganzas. All hail the advancing march of the mighty lettuce leaf. Within a few short weeks, he will lose half his body mass through a rigorous exercise and healthy eating regime.
Now I, on the other hand, prefer a middle ground. Reasonably healthy diet year round with the odd splurge. My downfall is a complete lack of exercise, unless you count chasing after two small beasties in which case I qualify for the Olympic team. But when you see your husband going off for a run each morning, returning to wax lyrical about the beautiful scenery, the herd of deer he passed, how peaceful it all was, it makes me think that maybe I should heave my fat backside off the sofa and see what he's on about.
So this morning, that's exactly what I did before said husband could disappear on his commute to London and before the beastie boys started demanding toast cut into squares or triangles or maybe squares.
He was right. It was peaceful. The scenery was gorgeous. Didn't spot any deer but saw the odd hare. However, I found it slightly tricky to appreciate it all while trying to breathe through my ears and stop my body from disintegrating. How can someone in their mid-thirties already have a dicky hip? Aah yes, years of lugging children who refuse to walk will have done it.
That said, I now feel charged up and ready to face my working day (all 5 hours of it in between doing pre-school/childminder runs/swimming lessons). But before I can start, I have to go wipe a bottom because according to my 2 year old, he's done 'a monster poo'. No amount of physical training can prepare you for some of the things life sends your way.