How To Motivate Yourself To Exercise.

When I first started doing exercise, I found it quite hard to motivate myself so I bought an ambitious amount of sportswear in the hope that wearing it would help me get into the mind-set of an athlete.

I reasoned that, if I looked like an athlete, I could delude my body into thinking it was capable of performing impressive feats of strength and endurance.

Once I started exercising, I was able to maintain this illusion of supreme athleticism for a short amount of time.

However, it soon became clear that I wasn’t an elite athlete and was, in fact, just a regular bog-standard unfit person.


Before exercising, I would perform elaborate warm-up routines in preparation for what I assumed would be a high intensity workout.

Warm up stretches are a useful way to prepare your body for exercise.

However, they are considerably less useful when they are used to actively avoid doing exercise in the first place.


Eventually, I decided that I needed to be more disciplined in my approach to exercise so I drew up a plan that detailed exactly how I was going to spend each workout to ensure that I spent less time stretching and more time actually exercising.

I thought that if I could stick to my workout plan, I would eventually fall into a routine and motivating myself to do exercise wouldn’t be such a struggle.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long until my workouts started to deviate slightly from the routines that I had originally set out for myself.


At one point, I also tried going to exercise classes in the hope that the group camaraderie would help drag me through the workout.

The concept of the exercise class has been around since Mulan times (very historically accurate…) in which the renowned military personal trainer Li Shang whipped his recruits into shape to the tune of the song ‘I’ll Make A Man Out Of You’

‘I’ll Make A Man Out Of You’ is a highly motivational song that makes getting fit feel like a heroic mission.


However, the message relayed to participants in fitness boot camps nowadays tend to be slightly less stirring and dramatic .


At the end of the day, there is only one thing that will truly encourage me to exercise.


In theory, healthy exercise cancels out unhealthy cake consumption and everything balances out at a vaguely acceptable level of healthiness (this is a very scientifically accurate statement that I tell myself so that I can eat cake without feeling too guilty…)

If you enjoyed this post, feel free to check out some of my other posts. For more blog posts and drawings, you can also follow me on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

Festive Eating – The Art of Consuming Enough Food to Find Yourself on the Verge of Exceeding the Physical Capacity of Your Stomach and Then Somehow Managing to Make Your Way Through an Entire Box of Chocolates.

Christmas food is in a league of its own.

In the 21st century, there is increased awareness of the health risks of excessive eating and therefore the majority of people tend to exert a bit of control over what they eat.

Not at Christmas.

Every time we substitute chips with salad, deny ourselves a slice of cake or practice any other form of culinary self-control, a little bit of tension is stored within us.

All of this tension is released on Christmas day.


The sheer mass of food present at Christmas is enough to intimidate most people.

Food is everywhere.

Some items of food are served within other items of food, like Inception but with calories instead of dreams.

People buy presents that are specifically targeted to further increase their ability to consume food and drink.


It is impossible to escape from the near continuous torrent of food.

The abundance and accessibility of food induces you eat at a rate beyond that which you would have previously perceived possible.

Items of food are often actively brought to you by other members of the family who are  trying to offload them onto you in a desperate attempt to halt their own unstoppable consumption.



It is likely that members of your family will have prepared dishes which they look upon with the same sense of pride that Michelangelo experienced upon the completion of the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling.

It is therefore hard not to experience a sense of obligation when they offer you a portion of their culinary magnum opus.



Christmas day is a bit like Black Friday for your stomach in that it receives an unprecedented amount of business, all the digestive enzymes that work there get overly stressed and eventually everything implodes, leaving stranded you in a state of comatose on the sofa.

The physical consequences of this implosion normally manifest themselves when you attempt to dress yourself on Boxing Day and closing the zip on your jeans is the equivalent of squeezing said jeans, along with various other items of clothing, into an undersized suitcase before you go on holiday.

Once Christmas Day has passed, you are unsure if you will ever need to eat again.

However, on New Year’s Eve, the calories strike back in the form of alcoholic drinks.

New Year’s Eve calories are much more subtle than Christmas calories.

Not only is it hard to consider a liquid calorific, the more alcohol you ingest, the more intoxicated you become and the less aware you are of how calories work.



Unless you possess an uncommonly high metabolism, it is impossible to consume vast quantities of food and without it exerting adverse effects on your waistline.

In order to counteract the calorific onslaught of Christmas day and New Year’s Eve, many people decide to take up running.

Running is similar to eating in that if you do for long enough it makes you feel sick.

When you first start running, it seems that everyone you pass doesn’t appear to be struggling as much as much as you are.

This may be because these people are just really fit.

However, it is comforting to imagine that a significant amount of people are just maintaining an illusion of fitness in order to appear impressive for as long as it takes to fully pass another person.


I’m Moderately Slow and Relatively Steady – So How Come I Haven’t Won Any Races Yet?

Running is my perverse addiction.

I don’t know why I am addicted to running.

I’ve always had a somewhat addictive personality, something that established itself in childhood when I became addicted to the Sims 2 and, more severely, marshmallow flumps.

At its worst, I would play the Sims 2 for up to 6 hours straight.

During that time, I would have consumed up to twenty-five flumps.

I realised that my addiction was taking a downward, destructive spiral when I stopped visiting the ‘Create a Family’ room and started removing doors from walls and ladders from pool sides instead.

I sensed that having near complete control over the lives of others was getting to me.

I was becoming sick with power.

I was losing sight of the person that I had been and was turning into a brainwashed flump-guzzling monster.flump guzzler

As a result, I made a concerted effort to quit.

All things considered, maybe I am so addicted to running because partaking in regular cardiovascular exercise means that I can afford to eat as many flumps as I want without getting fat.

I have also considered the possibility that my addiction stems from the fact that sustaining running-related injuries such as Achilles Tendonitis, Plantar Fasciitis and hurty toes makes me feel badass.

I tend to get injured quite a bit when partaking in any form of physical activity.

I think this might be because I have the spatial awareness of a bulldozer.

When I am walking and happen to encounter an immovable object, my mind cognates that the obstruction is there but my body does not move to accommodate it.


When I am running and moving at (a marginally faster) speed, I often don’t even have time to acknowledge the presence of an obstruction.

A couple of months ago, I sustained my most significant running injury to date.

I was running through my local woods when my foot caught on a tree root.

The sudden introduction of an opposing force to my previously established momentum meant that I was thrust violently forwards.

My arms chose this exact moment to bypass any semblance of an autonomic reflex response.

They remained pinned to my side as the rest of my body dove liberally through the air.

The result?

In the Black Mountains of the Nebraska region, the harsh weather conditions and heavy snowfall of the winter season mean that the red fox is forced to adopt a unique hunting technique in order to access its prey.

I have included a GIF of this hunting method as I feel that it accurately captures both the motion of my body in the moments after I tripped, along with the point of impact upon the fall’s completion.

After the initial shock of having punched the ground with my face had subsided, I reached upwards to assess the damage.

However, before my fingers could make contact with my facial skin, I felt a drop of liquid fall into my hands.

Panic-stricken and still somewhat shaken, I had the following series of thoughts:

oh my god

im bleedingbleeding


fallen off

what will i look like

voldemortagghhhwhere's my nose

must find


I started to scrabble around frantically on the floor, searching for my disembodied nasal passages.

Turns out that my nose was still on my face.

The drop that had fallen onto my hand was not blood but was instead a clear liquid.

Not that I was crying.

A drop of water had simply fallen on to my hand.

Yes, it may have fallen from my eye.

And yes, it may have been slightly salty.

Okay, so drop of salty water had fallen onto my hand directly from my tear duct.

But I wasn’t crying…

I don’t really know how to end this post so I’ve decided to finish on a quick moral that I will be following for the remainder of my life.


sometimes there are roots