There's this little old lady who's always at my Wednesday morning Pilates classes. Fair enough. Helen is worth getting up at the crack of dawn for, perhaps even if you're retired. But this morning I also spotted her creaking it out on the cardio machines with the rest of us (comparitively) spring chickens.
Call me lazy, but when I hit 70 and there's no way anyone will ever see me scantily clad in public again (and I have the option of wearing jogging suits as casual wear and am perfectly entitled to eat cupcakes for breakfast and expand as much as I please in what remains of my life), well ... I rather don't think I'd get up at five every morning to be at gym.
Would you?
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