I have tried many times but it seems there just isn’t a drop of an athlete in me. I decided I need to introduce regular exercise of some sort into my agenda when I was turning 40 – with scant result. Then I set 50 years as the final limit to start taking the health of the rest of my life seriously. That never happened either.
I admit it is rather nice to notice that the older you get the better your looks rank among people of your own age and sex. But I need to reach the level of endorphins when you not only get a free boost to your self-esteem but also achieve improved health as a bonus. I am agonizingly aware I cannot wait until 60 to make this change. Luckily my waistline has begun to help me keep this in mind.
However, I’m afraid the only method to force me into action is some military kind of command. So my lack of orderly fitness activities is actually due to my lack of a companion who would drag me to the arena. Didn’t I tell you I’m a master of excuses? Left, right, left, right, ex-er-cise!