A healthy addiction?

The gym. A proper workout for the neuroses whether you’re in it or out of it.

I know there are a lot of people sheepishly paying monthly sums for a membership that they’re yet to use or see its value.

I also know, from personal experience, that there are others whose frequent trips have justified said membership. But are we really getting our monies worth?

Or are we simply living in denial and feeding an unhealthy addiction?

Lately, I have seen the gym as less of a mecca for those being responsible about their weight to those of us who use it as haven to atone our sins. It truly is a minefield of guilt that I weave my way through all the contraptions to tone and perk those softer bits.

My life has become dominated by sweat and carbs. No longer has it become a measure to stabilise my ‘outside world’ of pints and chocolate binges.

Surely, I should be at an age where the quest for washboard abs are over. Surely, I have reached an inner calm with the way I look and what I have to work with. Surely, I can relax that the teenage litheness I once possessed is no longer achievable.

I find the more I indulge in this place, the more it calls me so.

I cruelly critique that body I see in the mirror.

Maybe it is my competitive nature that I am indulging: ‘I might be this age, but I have got a better body than most women born in 78’. It’s awful to think like that. Ridiculous even – sadistic some might say.

An ego out of control and in need of a firm reprimand – not another sweaty session on the cross-trainer.

But I can’t stop. Because if I do I won’t win the race. I’ll simply be softer, not harder.

And that’s the irony – I know I am too hard on myself.