Where pain = sex

Many years ago, I was a devoted gym-junkie. Hard to believe I know, but junkie I was. I would wear the requisite early '90's gym costume of leotard, cut high into the butt, with thick socks rolled down. I was a great fan of Step Classes, and was one of the annoying people up the front who would be leaping from the step and screaming for more. Social outings would be working around my favourite instructor - he took a class on Friday 5:30pm - so no after work drinks for me - just sweating away with Michael on stage and his glistening quads.

I then became a little bored with the world of Aerobics, and began running. I am not aerodynamically designed for running - putting it mildly. Even at my fittest and svelte-est, I am built for comfort - not speed. But run, I did. After much effort, I built myself up to regular 5km runs (on the treadmill) and loved it. I was even crazy enough to enter a fun run. Once.

But, the diagnosis of a thyroid condition in my late-20's put a kybosh on any aerobic activity for quite a while. Following that, a marriage break-up which sapped all my strength. Fitness went out the window, and I discovered a world of lethargy.

Every so often since then, I have once again toyed with the notion of regular exercise. I love dancing, for both its fun and fitness, but found partner dancing difficult because of the politics. So that lasted only about a year, before I moved on from it (after winning a national competition mind you). Then I discovered Tap Dancing, which required no partner, and certainly involved a lot more fun.

But here I am again, now in my mid-30's (yikes!), again trying to brave a fitness regime. With Bond far away, and the need for some physical activity (and certainly not getting the activity I want!), I have decided to take up running again. Of course, at the moment, the running is mostly a lot of walking, interspersed with brief snatches of fast foot shuffling. Nevertheless, I am, for the moment, undertaking regular movement with some cardio benefits. Hopefully, the benefits will not only be distraction from my absentee boyfriend, but some increased fitness and maybe some toning all over. And heck, when I do see him next, I want to be fuck-fit - it will be beyond tragic if after months apart, my stamina in the bedroom is less than sterling!

It seems that Bond has similar ideas about distraction. He, too, has signed up for a gym, and has increased the number of nights he plays softball. I commented to him once that I would have thought that sporting activities would not help his situation. Wouldn't activity stir up testosterone, and make him yearn ever more for rampant and wild sex? His comment was simple. Yes, indeed it does stir it up, but thankfully, his joints are so completely fucked up, that the overwhelming pain that kicks in, takes his mind off any sexual notions.

of course, then I wondered what sort of Pavlovian response is that... think of shagging Cath = mind-boggling pain!