So, I hurt my back a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve been going to the physio
to get it worked on (i.e. have someone’s elbow jammed into my butt and
back). He’s banned me from basketball and anything more intense than slow
cycling or walking or stretching and core work.



No intervals and no basketball make Katie angry.



On top of that, this depression business is not improving. Because I can’t
really exercise hard, I don’t feel like exercising. So I’ve been slack in
that department, and as such my mood is getting worse. It’s really hard to
get interested in anything, and I’m just not feeling like doing anything but
sit on my rear end. I’m starting to almost resent going to the gym because
people keep cancelling on me – I would too if I was still training, because
petrol is $1.60 a litre and interest rates have just been put up AGAIN, so I
can’t blame anyone for it – and PT Manager Paul is trying to help, but
doesn’t understand how this kind of thing messes with your mind. His answer
is “suck it up and deal with it” or “just changed your attitude” or “just
fix it” – not exactly getting the problem is I WANT to fix it and get into
it, but I just CAN’T. It’s not like I enjoy being slack or feeling like crap
most of the time.



On top of that, being told “you don’t look like a trainer” and “you don’t
look fit enough to run Boot Camp” is not exactly helping the situation. I
realise that PT Manager Paul is running the Boot Camp to get as many people
in as possible, and wants the best trainers in there, but I was recommended
for the job by the other chick that runs it who said my personality and
style would really work with it, and Paul shot it down. I don’t know if it’s
for the reasons at the top of this paragraph, or something more sinister,
because his girlfriend is now doing it instead.



I’ve applied for a part time job (well, several of them) to get some extra
cash coming in on a regular basis. PT is a little erratic at this time
(winter, money issues) and it’s a sh*t time of year to try and get business,
cause no-one wants to spend any money, and I think if I have some cash
coming in regularly, I won’t feel like such a failure, and I won’t feel like
I HAVE to sell, sell, sell at the gym, which is what I feel like a lot of
the time.



And I hate selling cold – if someone wants a PT, they’ll ask for one, but
our managers are getting ripped by head office to sell more triple packs and
fitness age assessments and so they just sell to anyone who’ll pay. Most of
them just want to learn how to use the equipment and then never train again,
great leads, which I then get rorted for, because I didn’t convert them to
spending $60 an hour every week. They spent $70 to get 3 x ½ hour sessions,
do you THINK they want to spend that every week again?? Most of them just
want to come in, work out, and leave – a gym membership is expensive as it
is – and the membership guys are doing it tough too trying to sell them.



Urgh. I’m sh*tted at the moment. Really.

This is so me. Ever find you just can't find the time to fit everything
in???



By Richard Glover (
http://www.smh.com.au/news/opinion/quick-tips-for-selfimprovement/2008/07/04
/1214951022001.html )



"YOU should see this," says Jocasta, pointing to a paragraph in the
newspaper. "It says a disciplined writer can create a novel in just one hour
a day, spread over a year. You're always whingeing about how you'd like to
write a novel. You should get started. It's just an hour a day."



"Ah, yes," I reply, waving my own newspaper, "but it says here that a
determined person can achieve a firm butt and flat stomach in just half an
hour a day. And while there are already lots of novels in the world, there's
a real shortage of foxy middle-aged guys with firm butts. So I may need to
prioritise."



"You could do both," she says. "Add them together and it's only an hour and
half a day."



I feel backed into a corner but not for long. "What about this?" I say
triumphantly, pointing to a fresh section of the newspaper. "It says here
that you can keep your own chickens and have a supply of fresh eggs,
spending just 15 minutes a day. Also if you meditate for just 20 minutes a
day, you can achieve peace, contentment and a 30 per cent increase in your
IQ."



"Well," says Jocasta distractedly, "I don't know about the extra IQ but I
could certainly use the eggs."



I stumble to my feet. "My point is that there are not enough hours in the
day. Everyone wants you to spend an hour a day doing their special thing but
if you add up the hours, it's totally impossible, so you go around feeling
like a failure even though there's nothing you can do."



"So," Jocasta says, "it's goodbye to my dreams of a novelist husband with a
firm butt. But I'd like to hear more about those chickens."



I move over to the computer. "All I am saying is there's a lot of gratuitous
advice on offer." I bring up Google and type in the phrase "just an hour a
day". There are 9900 web pages, all bristling with tut-tutting advice. In
just one hour a day I can be fit, rich, learn violin and have a working
knowledge of Hungarian. Spend the hour "in selfless service" and I can
change the world. Spend it listening to Celtic music and I can radically
lower my blood pressure. It certainly needs lowering. All this pressure is
making me panic. How to choose between learning Hungarian and saving the
world? Between "marinating myself in positive thoughts" and achieving a
working knowledge of domestic plumbing?



Jocasta suggests I try a shorter time frame, just to fit it all in. I change
my Google search to "just 30 minutes a day". This time I get 26,300 web
pages. I discover that in just 30 minutes a day I can make $5000 a month,
live five years longer, learn pro guitar and be fluent in Spanish.



The shorter time frame seems a good idea. I narrow it again, inserting the
phrase "just 10 minutes a day", and get 30,300 pages of advice. In just 10
minutes a day I can read War And Peace, learn conversational Italian and
become a pole dancer.



"Five minutes a day" is even better. In that time-frame I can develop a
beautiful bust-line and become closer to God.



I add up the lot. It comes to 73 hours a day of constant activity, not
including sleep, work or eating. But I will have rock-firm abs, fluency in
six languages and a regular supply of eggs.



That's the trouble with this sort of relentless advice. Everyone talks as if
you are stupid if you don't meditate, do yoga, walk for 20 minutes and read
all instructions carefully before use. You're also meant to check the
batteries in your fire alarm, constantly supervise your children's homework,
make soup from scratch and adjust your wing mirrors before ever putting the
car in gear.



If we did everything demanded of us by public health officials, mental
health experts and safety campaigners, we'd need 300 hours in every day,
would never be able to sleep or work and would still wake up every morning
with this vague feeling of guilt and underachievement.



I catch a reflection in the computer screen. Behind me I see Jocasta walk
past with a skipping rope, an MP3 player and a frypan. "All you've got to do
is multi-task," she says over her shoulder. Half an hour later, she's back
from the kitchen. I notice she has achieved more shapely calves, a working
knowledge of Finnish and is holding a freshly cooked omelet.



"I'd have preferred to use fresh eggs," she says, "but my husband has yet to
build the hutch for the chickens. It's because he spends too much time on
the computer."



She may have a point. Right now I'm in the process of setting up a website.
It's called "just 10 minutes a day". And it offers this advice: spend just
10 minutes a day listening to people giving you advice about how to spend
your time and you'll soon be so confused, guilty and weary that you'll want
to do precisely nothing.



Luckily, doing nothing for just 10 minutes a day .