Like a lot of people, I’ve gone through phases of gym-going over the years – namely when I lived about 30 seconds away from one and passed it every day, so had no real excuse not to. Then again when I first met my now husband and we went together as a kind of healthy date in the early days (which meant me quietly ditching the baggy jogging bottoms and investing in Sweaty Betty’s finest drapey jersey). But I cut up my last membership card long ago.
We also used to enjoy playing tennis every now and again on the local courts – which was fun (if a little too competitive) and a good way to have a work out in the great outdoors. But my favourite exercise has always been walking. Not just popping up the road but going for lovely long walks at the weekend and walking into work (which took a good hour and a half) at least once a week with my sister.
Then, when I was on maternity leave and had finally mastered the art of leaving the house with absolutely everything I needed crammed into a changing bag, I would go for long walks with Scrip safely muffled and tucked up in her pushchair. This was one of my favourite times – I made sure I had a purpose (not hard – there was always another tube of metanium that needed buying) and I’d set off at a briskish pace.