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!
Teresa Maria