I fear that my overall level of fitness has suffered during lockdown. When I commuted to work each day, I had a fairly well defined plan of exercise, both at home and at the office, not even including the reasonably long walk between my house and the train station. Now that I am working from home, it is as though my two separate exercise plans have converged and cancelled each other out, like a wave meeting a trough, or a Labour voter marrying a Tory voter.
I have become lethargic; listless. I lie in bed late in the mornings, and I sometimes take a nap in the afternoon, too. I take the opportunity to sit down on the loo to pee instead of standing; God knows, if I could lay down and piss at the same time, I would probably do that, too.
I have had no desire to join the online exercise classes of Joe Wicks, or to dust off my leotard and jig along with Mr Motivator on BBC Breakfast.
In fact, my daily exercise routine has been reduced to standing in front of the bathroom mirror and wind-milling my arms in one direction for a count of twenty, before doing the same in the reverse direction for another count of twenty, and alternately standing on one leg at a time, and then the other one: all activities that, at some time or other in my life, I would have done purely for pleasure, rather than classified it as exercise.
Even when lockdown ends, I won’t be rushing out back to the gym; won’t be found swimming lengths of my local swimming pool.
But maybe I am being too hard on myself? Exercise and guilt have become inextricably entwined in the modern world and, ultimately, guilt is just as corrosive to health as lack of exercise.
All that is required is a change of mind-set. From now on, I am going to embrace my wind-milling arms; I am going to applaud my standing on one leg.
Who knows, I may even start peeing standing up again.
© Simon Turner-Tree
Simon Turner-Tree might appear to be lying down, but he is actually exercising his mind.