It's a common resolution. Quite frankly, human beings are vain little bastards. Among many other debatable visual blemishes, obesity is frequently unwelcome in our often pointless pursuit for the perfect bod. Yet exercise is not only practised in order to become attractive; it is also mandatory for an acceptable standard of good health. A functioning set of lungs is quite admirable - behold all who are able to climb numerous flights of stairs without collapsing. Oh jah and there's also the promise of a provoking social ruse. Cue the following sample conversation.
"Jeffery, dear, I saw you sweating like a pig the other day..."
"Oh Janis, do excuse me. I was simply returning from my five kilometre run."
That's right Janis. Jeffery was EXERCISING, the filthy mutha fucker. This would then be a reasonable line for him to follow with:
"Would you care to caress my abdomen?"
To all those who are like myself, you'll know the promise to ourselves that tomorrow is the day. Tomorrow, we shall rise out of this void, we will become one of those running freaks. Our health matters goddamnit! Along with the sudden sexiness that comes with a lack of fat rolls and a steady heartbeat. Those Lorna Jane wearing shitheads will come to a shock when they realise that you, like (some of) them are fit. This state is highly desirable and in that, maybe we'll have something to wear with pride: the fact that we EXERCISE. It's proof that the physical world of sport is amazing.
However if there's something I fail at, it's self motivation. So while I'll make the typical pledge to myself that tomorrow I'll rise at 0600, ready to jog before my brain is even able to make logical sense of what is happening, I do know that it's me. I may not leave my bed, rendering whatever excuse possible - whether it be the weather, lack of sleep or apparent sickness. Yes, I'm a lazy shit and I need to exercise. Right now though, my bed is calling me... and that's all that matters.