Huh. Hah. I spent all of yesterday thinking about stories, and monsters, and designing a monster, and thinking about my comic, and sketching, and in the end I felt absolutely dreadful. This morning I swung my arms around a bit, which made them creak, and then realised I had better get out of the house and run around before I fused into a knot.
Unfortunately I don't enjoy exercise. I hate every sort of exercise that is unproductive, I loathe cycling because it puts the fear of serious injury into me, and I am not competitive in any way so team sports are out. I mean, I've tried being competitive, in the same way one tries to take up smoking to look cool, because all the popular people in school were competitive. And sporty, actually. But it never caught. My parents tried, like good parents do, to get me interested. I remember being very small and my mum saying "See if you can touch your toes!" and me touching my toes and saying "yes" and her saying "but can you do it again?" and me saying "well, very probably, yes" and worrying about her state of mind a bit when she demanded proof.
Anyway, I enjoyed running at one point in my life. Well, that's not strictly true. I enjoyed getting away from my irritating home situation at speed, and I enjoyed arriving at the beach, sometimes even before the sun came up so I could look for planets. The point is, I didn't MIND the running.
And I really do enjoy long walks by myself, so why not just speed up the walks gradually...
Enough of this now, I feel reasonably exercised after running halfway to the park and walking the other half and then flopping down onto the grass and watching the crows walk by. Cup of tea and drawing now!