I’m sure he meant no harm by his words. After all, he’s a nice chap, and I had just about forgiven him for his earlier misdemeanour…the one where he had spoiled the little mental game I play with myself whilst on the dreaded rowing machine. The one where, after about two minutes, I pretend that I’ve only done a minute, in the desperate hope that when my five minutes are done it’ll come as a nice surprise. Being told that I’d done 3 minutes, when I was busy telling myself I was approaching 2 minutes, was upsetting, but nothing compared to what was to come.
The words slipped out so easily – an afterthought – an ‘oh, by the way.’ – he told me my five minutes were up and then he just said it. “You rowed 1,084 metre’ which I was quite happy with, followed by ‘you used up 61 calories’. 61? Never has 61 felt like such a pitiful number.
I knew, from recent attempts at ‘watching what I eat’ that 61 bloody calories equates to about what you get from one very low fat biscuit, or about half a pot of low fat yoghurt. I couldn’t believe that I’d spent five minutes on what can only be described as a torture machine that left me sweating, weak and breathless, to lose such a pathetic amount of calories.
So, I’ve just checked what else I could have done to use up 61 calories. And guess what, I could have had an hour’s sleep and used up the same amount of energy! Now that is something worth remembering. Apparently I could have had a 15-minute shower, or spent half an hour arguing on the phone! I could even have had about 40 minutes of ‘sexual intimacy’!! 40 minutes! Mmm…perhaps the rowing machine suits me after all.