The post-Christmas-feasting period is probably not the best time to confess that exercise and I are not on the best of terms. I actually really like the feel of running and running but my poor stamina means that after two or so minutes I... start walking? A fast walk, though. Probably a faster walk than some people's run. It's practically a sprint.
I have the best intentions the night before. I set my alarm an hour earlier, I lay out my sporty clothes and I feel virtuous because not only will I be getting fit but I will be setting myself up for a productive day. Paragraphs will be written! Books will be read! So I fall asleep, warmed by my own virtue and smiling at pain that hasn't eventuated yet. Then the alarm goes off at some dim, unearthly hour and I stub my feet stumbling to stop the wretched beeping and I'm only disoriented- why is my alarm going off when it is clearly not a new day but some halfling hour? Why am I standing in my shadowed room, still heavy with sleep? Why the heck are my sporty clothes laid out on the floor? Madness. Then when I wake up at the usual time it all comes flooding back, and that's what my exercise regime usually looks like.
But maybe 2011 is the time to kick the vicious cycle. Thrice weekly runs. Yoga and pilates at the gym (I have a membership, I do. Been twice. And when I think of how that fee could have been spent...! It burns almost as much as my muscles would if I actually went to the gym.)
I'm telling you all this because I have been living in a Bassike jumper ('sweater' to my North American friends) and it's got a distinctly Alexander Wang feel. So today I'm in a pair of navy satin Kirrily Johnston shorts and the jumper (grey marle) and I feel... like so
or, I dunno, maybe something like this?