On Exercise

Running is a ridiculous sport.

Even though I wear a sports bra, my boobs still manage to jingle jangle up and down and all over the place.
This will not be a good look at 40.

The unsightly nature of such physical exercise continues in the actual process of running itself.

I truly am the most unfit person in world. In fact, make that the galaxy.

I'm not too proud to admit that when I run, even pigeons can tell that there's something wrong. They probably think I should run straight to a local weight watcher's club or into the arms of a personal trainer. Failing that, a hospital.

When I run, I turn red. Not a rosy, healthy red but an 'oh my god I think I'm dying' red. This is very often accompanied by a certain amount of hyperventilating and sweating. Very attractive.

Years of alcohol, cigarette and chocolate cake abuse have turned me into an unhealthy mess.

I really should repent - give up all the crap that is so so nice, trading it for a torturou regime of healthy food and exercise. The kind that Gillian McKeith inflicts on a regular basis.

I need to change my ways.
I must change my ways.

But would one more vodka really hurt?