We're with you, Cynical Ben

I feel quite guilty now. Over at Cynical Ben, he's bemoaning the misery of exercise, forced on him by a steadfast and admirable refusal to give up his diet of cheese (and civet-intestine coffee). I'm feeling bad because I just sent him a link to The Cheese Boat, which is currently infesting my dreams. Despite Ben's diatribe against BMX-riding youths turning into the comment section of the Daily Mail website, I do sympathise. I too, am a victim of The Youth - for things like picking their litter up, and looking like a porky David Mitchell. 

My response was similar - I started swimming, partly because I couldn't keep up with the Map Twats and because I went to a meeting with the British Olympic Association and noticed, passing the plate glass windows, that I was half the height and twice the weight of my colleagues, few of whom were endowed with the sagging breasts of a lazy 50-yr old. 

I am reformed. I drag my carcass to the pool for 40-50 lengths three times a week, plus fencing once or twice. Am I better for it? Spiritually, no. I'm still spiteful, sarcastic, misanthropic and boring. But at least I've added a few more years to my life expectancy in which I can hone these qualities. I've lost a fair amount of weight and appear to have developed a waist and pectorals. My knees are now within visual range and I can stagger a little further on our walks. I hate swimming though - the boredom's broken only by the frequent sense that a watery doom is imminent. It's not made better by Neal's seal-like speed and grace. 

Still, if I capsize the Cheese Boat, at least I'll be able to swim to safety, perhaps dragging a sack of salvaged cheese behind me.