6:45am the alarm goes off, after cursing the world and my boss. For some strange reason I drag myself out of bed, walk to the bathroom look in the mirror and ask why?
Why do I put myself through the heartache and pain of leaving my warm large soft lover? Perhaps the thought of gaining large love handles? Perhaps the though of dying earlier than my partner and friends? These thoughts roll through my mind over and over.
But why obsess? Why put myself through it? Well the obsessing got me out of bed didn’t it?
After much faffing and posing around my bat cave studio, I pack my little backpack with the essentials:
- Change of clothes for work
- Toiletries (too many to name)
Headphones in, music playing at a level that will surely give me ear damage, I head up the stairs on my daily route to Fitness First Kings Cross.
Whilst sniffing in car fumes, urine smells, dog poo and chanel no. 5 (worn by a man`) the thoughts about health still run around in my head. Is my insecure warped body image, actually good for my health?
Both my parents are diabetics, my father is a self confessed alcoholic, and my mother has never touched a drop of alcohol but is a self confessed sweet tooth. They both were reasonable athletes in their hey day, but let their health slip away over the years.
I like to think of myself as a reasonably fit 25-year-old male. My diet is reasonably good, the odd steam dumpling being my biggest vice! But have I bucked a common trend with males in my family? Have I been self conscious enough to see my body age healthier than most?
I have lost granparents, uncles, aunties and cosuins due to health related problems. This should be a big motivator for me to stay fit, but strangely it’s the thought of being classified “overweight” and not getting acting gigs that motivates me?!
After smashing myself at the gym, and watching countless buff men parade around the gym aimlessly. I leave for work feeling a million bucks, the best a person can feel in the morning. And I say to myself, yeah it’s worth leaving my bed for.