Water – check. Salads – check. Exercise – negative. Besides the boredom of running on the treadmill and the sheer agony of the stepper, what stops me from exercising? It’s not that I’m lazy, nor that I once had chronic fatigue (when even washing the dishes left me feeling like I had just ran a marathon), it’s just that I become neurotic about when and how often to do it. Let me explain.

I may be naturally organised, but I am not one for excessive scheduling and routine. I knew someone many years ago, who no matter what, did his washing every Sunday at the same time followed by a roast lunch. I’m not sure what he thought might happen if he stayed at the party, and did his washing say after the roast, but he was never keen to find out. I’m not sure if he didn’t have enough underwear to last more than a week, but his excessive need for routine sure did leave me cold. This specimen’s lack of spontaneity was confirmed when he declined a quick shag during his lunch break, on the grounds that it would upset his afternoon at work – did this man have a pulse or what? However, he was always keen when I scheduled sex in advance. Needless to say, he did not meet my requirements for a successful FB scenario, and I cut off his privileges.

The security he found in schedules was surely symbolic of a need for control, resulting from some kind of deep rooted fear. He may have been safe, but he sure as hell wasn’t living, let alone having any fun. Needless to say, spending any amount of time in his presence was hardly cause for celebration. He was merely going through the motions of life, existing from one day to the next and ticking off his to do list as he went.

Living life to a schedule not only offends my free spirited nature, but it suffocates me – literally. The anxiety that often accompanied my chronic fatigue, was nearly always the result of an over demanding schedule. It was as though my to do list was wrapping itself around my chest and strangling me, leaving me unable to breathe. As a recovering over-doer, I now know better and my brain will take a preemptive strike and reject any overly rigid demands I make on it. Don’t get me wrong, I can make plans, meet deadlines and I don’t discount that having some kind of rhythm to your life can make it flow, but I’m talking about excessive routines that imprison people’s souls.

So it seems all that is holding me back from having a supermodel’s body is a mental block. I just need to find a way to trigger my brain to exercise on a regular basis that doesn’t involve telling myself to exercise x times per week on certain days. My Bridget Jones type exercise neurosis, also reminds me that what works for one person, doesn’t always work for another, and everyone needs to find what works for their own body when it comes to eating (I refrained from using the word diet, as I have an ardent dislike for the negativity and deprivation it conjures up) and exercise. Even though being a gym bunny appeals to a certain part of me, I am at heart a Pilates and walking outdoors kind of woman.

So another reason to love spring and the emergence of sunshine, is being able to take a break from my work on sunny afternoons (aaah the joys of working for ones self) and go for a walk when my body tells me it wants to. I concede that the treadmill may be a necessary evil in winter, but there is no way I am going anywhere near it while the sun is shining. I am lucky that I live in a beautiful area, that my Libran sensibilities approve of (as a Libran my life is dictated by beauty – I’m one of those people who will pay $2 extra for a carton of eggs because they come in a nice carton). I can hear the botanical gardens call as we speak. I’m also looking forward to finding a pilates class when I feel ready – it not only elongates and thins my thighs, but it leaves me feeling calm and centred afterwards.