Talk to me about your exercising. Except, please don’t.
If I have to read one more tweet or Facebook update about the run you just went on, I think I may throw this can of Diet Coke at the screen.
Now before you wipe off your sweaty brow and come-a-hating over on my ever-expanding arse, hear me out.
I understand that you must exercise to maintain the temple that is your body and that organic quinoa must be delicious because you keep banging on about it, but really…
Can you do it without spreading your shining, glorious goodness to all that are forced to listen?
I understand that you have downloaded apps on your iPhone to track your progress that is then linked to your Twitter account so you can smugly share it with the world but I have to ask, apart from yourself, do you really think that anyone else is that interested?
The thing is, change rooms are at the gym for that very reason. To change out of your gym gear into normal clothes so we do not have to see you at the café later ordering a skim soy chai late in your Lorna Jane ensemble.
We get it. You exercise and look fabulous.
Perhaps it’s time to fight fire with fire – squat with chocolate block, stair master with white wine. You just ran 10km? Fabulous, I just ate a pizza. Guess who had more fun? I don’t understand the need to Preach the gospel of push-ups.
Is exercise the new religion? I mean I never hear people starting a conversation with “I went to mass today and man, I am tired. But I feel really focused and beat both my own and Jesus’s personal best in the kneeling stakes…”.
If being virtuous is a competitive sport, then apparently sport is the most competitive virtue.
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