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#30DayAfriblogger

#16 My Health and Fitness Journey

I am a hypochondriac that has an erratic fitness journey. This is ironic because you’d think I’d love to exercise to ward off most chronic diseases but nope! Here are a few excuses, sorry reasons, why I can’t commit to my fitness journey.

 

I don’t go to the gym for the same reason I avoid the dentist. They don’t get new equipment for each patient. They use the same equipment and wash it down and just like that its back in rotation. These are the thoughts that run through my head during dental visits and I start to gag. This is the only time I gag by the way, that’s how bad it is.

 

Same thing with the gym. People sweat all the fat off onto the gym equipment. Saw a notice in a gym once pleading with the members to wipe down after themselves. Do you think they carry Jik and Dettol to the gym to clean up after themselves? I doubt that very much. So I’d rather save myself the horror thoughts and stay home. I am not a full blown OCD but I have slight tendencies towards that direction.

 

My left knee gives me problems. I tell people that it’s a rugby injury but never played sports a day in my life. My knee doesn’t allow me to run but then again neither do my lungs. When I run, skip or jump my knee gets spasms when I go to bed. It starts these electric shock like things which make me kick out involuntarily while I am sleeping. You can’t sleep when your knee is playing out some Bruce Lee ninja movie. This knee problem kicks my ass! (pun very much intended.)

 

I am fat because of my genetics. People from my father’s side are hefty. So its only right that I follow suit. You cannot fight genetics. Fortunately, we are bottom heavy, so we are massive in the right places (for the women anyway.) Most of my aunts are trying to lose the weight now as old people diseases kick in. So I’m gonna learn from them and avoid putting on the weight in the first place. I’ll just avoid the meat and booze. I’d rather starve than exercise.

 

I am not asking for a lot. I am a size 36, it’s not that bad. I just want Rihanna’s breasts, Jennifer Lopez’s waist, Beyonce’s bum and the legs of Britney Spears without ever setting foot in a gym. Or doing anything that might trigger my asthma. I may need to start saving up for some plastic surgery.

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