Jumping the Treadmill

I see that gym membership in Britain is dropping for the first time in twenty years, though sadly this has more to do with chasing other will o' the wisps than any burst of common sense.

Not that I have any claim to immunity from the fad. I belonged to a gym back in the '80s when I decided to do something about keeping in shape over the winter teaching schedule between archaeological excavations. For about five weeks I did the usual round of treadmills, running tracks, and making odd machines move in odd ways until I figured out that this was too much like hard work. Besides, I have the sort of physique that exercise doesn't so much build up as pummel down. I still went regularly, however, since I discovered that steam baths are an exceptional way of nursing a hangover.

Nowadays I follow the Chez Szondy fitness plan, which consists of keeping up a house in the country while chasing after two dogs and a five-year old.