Those gurus of our health care thus advise:
“Bestir yourself, get out and exercise”
But as for me there’d be no worse a fate,
Than in activity participate.
What? I should walk or jog or run a mile?
The thought’s so ludicrous it makes me smile.
To my well-being what a horrid menace,
To slave at badminton or squash or tennis.
Beside my well-filled glass I lift no weights,
And you will never see me dead on skates.
With dignity, as to the manor born,
I just disdain to climb the Matterhorn.
And if you wish to talk of climb – ’nuff said,
The only climb I do is into bed.
Develop muscles – pectoral, abdominal . . . ?
There’s surely nothing could be more abominable.
Avoid all risk, go nowhere near a gym,
And only in my bathtub will I swim.
Row, row, row my boat gently down the stream?
No! No! No! I won’t! – not even in a dream.
What? Someone saw me paddle a canoe?
That vile, malicious rumour’s just not true.
You spy that guy who expertly can ski
Come swooshing down the slope? That sure ain’t me.
I spend my days in dolce far niente,
Which is the only thing I do in plenty.
Each day is filled with non-accomplishment
And zero calories is all I’ve spent.
But all these thoughts have made my head so ache
In self-protection this resolve I make:
From all my mind to totally excise,
That horrid obscene word of “exercise”
And any need to cogitate I’ll slake
With wondrous thoughts of cookies, pie and cake.
– Noel E Derrick
