I was in the room the other day, shaking my head slowly from side to side as I sifted through my raft of unsuccessful crowd-funding ideas. Puppy farms run by actual puppies working as farmers, nail art as a form of palliative care, a video campaign encouraging people to use the word zeitgeisty more – not one of these were zeitgeisty enough to secure the money needed (€30,000) to see them through. Worn out by the cruelty of so-called ‘crowd wisdom’, I decided instead to imagine the ideal workout.
What’s that, brother? I can’t make out what you’re saying because the TV is up so loud and you’ve gone and put a tablespoon of marshmallow fluff and a tablespoon of peanut butter in your mouth simultaneously, in what you adorably call a low-carb treat. Could you repeat it? Ah, I understand. You’re saying, between mouthfuls, “Summer’s here, too late to start exercising.” I know what you mean, but I’d be no kind of sister if I didn’t tell you this: exercise is less about getting a bangin’ bod and more about occasionally doing what you need to do instead of what you want to do. For example, most days all I want to do is Google image search Michael Flatley and just zone out as the hours pass, but what I need to do is go to work to earn money for rent and tap shoes.
A Mr Wiseman once told me that the intensity of a workout is a crucial element and I believed him, because he was a qualified personal trainer. So I put down the book I was reading as I gently glided along on the rowing machine’s seat and came up with the following ways to guarantee an intense workout. 1. Pop some pork chops in your jogging shorts to ensure a lengthy chase by dogs. 2. Promise a sick child you’ll rollerblade them to the hospital in time for their life-saving surgery. 3. Anger a farmer by worrying a sheep* and you’ll be forced to cycle out of shotgun range in a hurry.
My ideal workout happens whether or not I want it to – it removes my brain from the equation and puts it back again after, better for the break. My dream workout reminds me that I’m not just a floating head – it shakes me up and proves that sweat is better than tears and a tired body beats a jumpy mind, it shows me again that I’m in the world and that any kind of moving is moving onwards.
*If you don’t know how to worry a sheep, I’ll tell you. It’s really easy, sheep generally worry about the same things we do. So, simply approach one, ideally as she is falling asleep, and whisper: “What if you can’t have lambs or you can but you don’t like them but you only find out when you meet them? Also you have no money for them and what about the environment?”