Like most of us during the last 332 days, I have developed a couple of bad habits as a result of forced lockdowns. Slouching. Loafing around. Hunching over my laptop on my bed instead of sitting at the desk. Wearing the same pair of joggy bottoms a day too long. Going bra-less. Drinking on a Tuesday. Biscuit misuse. Forgetting to exercise. Forgetting what day it is. Forgetting to paint my nails and keep up with the hair dye. Failing to shave my legs. Falling asleep with my headphones in. Scrolling through social media rather than reading meaningful literature. General apathy. Procrastination. Perhaps some of this behaviour was there before, and I am using lockdown as an excuse, but I really think if I am going to emerge from this caterpillic state and develop into a gorgeous butterfly sometime this summer, I have got to have a damn good talk to myself.
I ache. My shoulders are sore, and my glutes feel glutenous. Although I still tramp around the soggy fields, mile after mile on my daily dog walks, I don’t feel fit. My muscles all seem to hang off me and I’m aware if I don’t do something about this soon it is going to get worse. I know that now I have reached my fabulous fifties, things will start to slide downhill pretty quickly if the Menopause Fairy gets her way. She doesn’t just change your internal thermostat and tolerance levels you know - she re-arranges your physical makeup too. I remember saying to my own mother to keep moving, to stretch, to keep up the weight bearing exercises to help with the bone density. It wasn’t that long ago that I was able to run 5km without breaking a sweat and had the strength to easily keep up with advanced Pilates classes. Now I find it pretty hard to touch my toes and my shoulders are so tight I can’t scratch my own back.
I am my own worst enemy. I think because I have always been pretty fit without really working at it, I have taken it all a bit for granted. It is alarming how much I have deteriorated over such a short sedentary phase – I dread to think what I would be like if I wasn’t walking as well. I think we all have forgotten how active we were when we had a normal pace of life. Think about how much energy we used to expel on an average day - sprinting around town visiting those non-essential shops; up and down stairs and escalators; on and off trains and buses for work; rushing to meetings; fitting in appointments with dentists and hairdressers or lunch with friends. Or perhaps we would manically hoover and dust the whole house in honour of weekend visitors; or squeeze in a class at the gym after work before dashing back home to grab a bite to eat then heading out again for a teacher/ parent evening. I’m exhausted just thinking about it. But I think I’ve underrated just how important these seemingly mundane day to day activities contributed to keeping me moving and generally fit.
So, am I to wallow and grab another glass of red? Or for the first time in a long-time kick-start my sorry arse into doing something? Biscuits and booze aside, my diet is pretty good. And when I have a physical class I can turn up to, I dedicate my whole being to it – I am the perfect student. But now all the gyms and leisure centres are closed, I find it very difficult to put aside a time in a day to slope off to another room in our house to stretch and jump around a bit. I end up making it up as I go along, taking short cuts or looking at emails coming in on my phone. And yes, I have tried online classes with actual instructors, but again – with one husband, two sons and a dog vying for attention, I find it virtually impossible to chill out and be bendy and zen as I follow a YouTube yoga workshop in the front room. But there I go again, making excuses.
I am not a religious person but find myself every year making something out of Pancake Day (apart from the obvious pancakes, which I can’t make at all, so thank goodness for a partner who is great with a crepe pan. One year he was away, and I tried and failed miserably to live up to his tossing, and the boys still talk about The Night The Pancakes Stuck). I try to observe some sort of sacrifice or abstinence for the period of Lent which begins the day after. Whether that is giving up chocolate or crisps, alcohol or swearing at the TV, I have always tried to do something. Not this year. I didn’t do dry January and, you know, I am not going to complicate my emotions from now until Easter with a threat of any additional deprivation on top of the impositions already enforced on us.
This year I am going to do something productive instead – rather than give something up, I am going to use this period as one where I begin to reconnect with myself. I have already rediscovered my love of walking, so that is a habit I am hopefully stuck in for life. I know the biggest obstacle is me - I don’t have anyone else to blame, or anything in my defence. Bad habits are there to be mended so I am going to be busy dusting myself down if I wish to surface in the sunshine in a couple of months. So, starting with wearing a bra and sitting upright, shoulders back and tummy tucked at my newly acquired Swedish desk I built myself– today is the beginning of my new beginning. Wish me luck…
© The Real Tilly Fairfax
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