As a teenager, I was very much a “don’t put me down for cardio” girl. At school I would volunteer to be the goalkeeper as it required the least amount of movement. When it came to sports day, if I couldn’t blag a sicknote, I’d reluctantly sign up for long jump, since the long-jump pit was tucked away behind the bike shed and drew no crowds. The idea of running on the track in front of the whole school felt like a nightmare brought to life.
Unlike lots of my male friends who played football or rugby for fun, I only saw exercise as punishment. Diet culture in the 90s dictated that thinness – and subsequent “goodness” – was a simple case of calories in versus calories out. Exercise was a gruelling way to stay slim and nothing more. I knew nothing of the feelgood effects of exercise, since I only ever experienced feeling as if I was going to pass out.
