Tuesday, 3 July 2007

Have been back to the gym with a vengeance this week and am deliciously sore tonight. My triceps ache at the moment, trembling even with the effort to type this, and I couldn't be happier. It's such a good ache, the sort of ache you get after fantastic sex, reminding you with every twinge of what you did to get there and suffusing yourself with warmth as the memory flashes before you.

It's as addictive as sex as well. The high, the climax, the aftermath - it's all good. It makes me want to go again and again. I have done a lot of study into mental health and exercise, and the results are somewhat stunning. Exercise is a massive mood regulator and should be prescribed for all depressives. I know that for me the effects are immediate. My mind is clearer, my mood lifts, and all the swampy crappy emotions just dissipate. Combine it with a dash of sunlight and the rejuvenation that brings and I am literally a new person.

While weightloss and the pursuit of aesthetics is what forces me to go in the first place, it's the side effects of actually feeling like a real person again that makes me come back for more and more.

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