There's something very ironic about watching great athletes do what they do best, whilst lounging about on a comfortable sofa. Catholic guilt kicks in, and I feel like I should be rowing, swimming or... judo-ing? Instead I'm chilling out in pyjamas, cat on lap, box of Special K on standby.
Still, I like to think that while my body isn't experiencing any physical exertion, my subconscious is kicking into high gear and is being motivated as I sit. So that when I do eventually stand, perhaps I'll jog up the stairs instead of crawl. Maybe I'll jump over my coffee table- broken neck, optional- instead of strolling around it. And maybe, just maybe I'll make it out of the house and up the road to the corner shop.
But then again there really is no need to exert myself. I'm no Olympian.
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