midult of nowhere, countryside, relocation, moving to the country

Nowhere was meant to tighten her buttocks and firm her thighs

I made many miscalculations in moving to Nowhere. I really thought that, freed from my desk-bound job, I would be fitter, healthier and more active. I had a vigorous Plan A, fuelled by visions of a quiet tightening of the buttocks, an effortless firming of the thighs delivered via bracing daily walks no matter what the weather, roses in my cheeks…

Not a bit of it. Sure, I don’t sit at a desk all day any more but I’ve simply swapped my ergonomic office chair for the driving seat of a mud-caked car as I spend most of my days driving endlessly along country lanes. My flesh is starting to feel – and I fear, look – like soggy dough, and I feel pent up, caged, restless. This is a dangerous moment, a tipping point. I am stagnating. I cannot resign myself to steadily expanding like a barrage balloon. I need to get the blood pumping again. Get sweaty. Take back control of my waistline.

So I am reverting to Plan A. I have started walking. Now and again; in the moments when the weather isn’t setting in like something from The Day After Tomorrow. In the windows of spring sunshine, I have taken to climbing a nearby (and really quite surprisingly steep, you’d be impressed) hill, in the company of no one but a few sheep and birds. Doing it nearly kills me and my thighs are not so much firm as like jelly that has not quite set. But my head feels clearer and my heart a little lighter every time. I’m basically Maria von Trapp, I just haven’t got enough breath back yet to start singing about it.

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