Bargainhunter: The expense of getting fit

Tag : skiing shoes

Being fit and healthy is an expensive business. On the upside,there’s the money I save on wine; on the downside,there’s the endless stream of purple sprouting broccoli andorganic blueberries going from supermarket to fridge to bin. Isquandered £119 on a flashy juicer in a bid to arrest theflow, but it sat in my kitchen for three months before beingrelegated to the cupboard. My cleaner used to dust it.
Now, as the nation teeters on the verge of bankruptcy, I’mtempted to say, “Sod the overpriced goji berries” andsink my few remaining pence into a cheering new handbag or a weekin Anguilla. But the looming prospect of my BUPA company healthcheck is usually enough to make me cower in the corner, totting upweekly units and fictitious portions of fruit, and this year is noexception. They’ve stopped making you go on an exercise bike,thank God, but they still do a lung capacity trial and test everyvital organ for all manner of self-inflicted abuse. I used to patmyself on the back because I’d given up smoking, but that wasnearly nine years ago. I can rest on that particular laurel nolonger.
Something must be done, but what? And with a budget of £0? Ihate gyms. I used to pay £70 a month for membership of a gymI never went to. I carried on paying for years on the grounds thatthis painless act of direct debit was an investment in my futurehealth and fitness, while cancelling it would be an admission thatI would never have either. I only saw sanity when someone pointedout that every time I went swimming it cost me £1,680.
I love skiing, and skating, and rollerblading, in fact, anythingglide-y and fast. But glide-y, fast things tend to be expensive,and there are limited opportunities for them in Wapping, which iscobbled and damp. I like horse riding, but rarely encounter anyhorses. I like running, but have yet to meet the sports bra thatmakes it anything less than an act of public indecency.
That leaves cycling, but then a friend told me a decent bike wouldbe about a grand. In the parallel universe I inhabit, this isroughly three pairs of shoes. Plus, if I cycle to work, I’llhave to shower when I get here, which means lugging clothes,make-up, hairdryer, creams, mousses and brushes, and getting readyfor work in a scuzzy changing room instead of the comfort of myflat. Case closed.
I have therefore concluded that it’s all just too expensive.There are no bargains, or short cuts, to be had. So the only wayI’m going to get through my BUPA check is by sending a proxy.If there’s a teetotal gym bunny out there who could pass fora 5ft 7in, blonde couch potato, please get in touch. I’lleven throw in a juicer.
Carol Midgley is away
bargainhunter@thetimes.co.uk