By Cheryl Lim

LAST Sunday, I felt my first wave of guilt in a long time for leading a sedentary lifestyle. By sedentary, I mean I do not exercise at all.

I don't because I do not enjoy it. I don't enjoy the panting, the gasping, the sweating, and definitely not the subsequent aching joints.

When I tried to start exercising two years ago, I didn't feel the purported mental and physical benefits of getting fit which people wax lyrical about, like the proverbial endorphin rush.

Or maybe whatever rush there was had been eclipsed by the panting, gasping, sweating and aching joints.

And since I don't have health issues like obesity or heart problems that require exercise to tame, I don't feel the urgency to get active, for now.

My wave of guilt - which was short-lived, I should add - swelled when I was at the Standard Chartered Singapore Marathon. To run errands, not run.

There I was, surrounded by throngs of minimally-active to maniacally-fit people. There were about 50,000 of them - a number fitter than others.

Some were among the 12,393 runners who completed the arduous 42km route. Others ran the half marathon and some, the 10km route.

There were grey-hairedmarathoners, who looked over 70 years old, running past me as I heaved just from walking in the heat of the morning sun, fanning myself with a marathon brochure. Also present were children as young as three taking part in a 750m kids' dash.

Everyone applauds fit people like businessman Chan Meng Hui, who has passed his 78th year and has completed roughly as many marathons.

For me, exercise has no place in my life, unless SMSing and jostling at Mango sales count. But like I said, two years ago, I made attempts to start exercising.

I enrolled in fitness classes at gyms.

This was years after leaving school, when physical exertion was mandatory twice a week during 30-minute PE lessons.

I figured that if I found something I enjoyed, I could start exercising like so many other shiny happy people.

After two kickboxing classes and one session of yoga, all of which drew yawns from me, I stopped going. I have no qualms admitting that if I had been better at kickboxing or yoga, my interest might have been sustained.

In school, I could never reach my toes without bending my legs. At the age of 25, in a yoga class, I realised that it hadn't changed. And I simply lacked the chops to do the furious uppercuts which are part of kickboxing.

Then, there was a brief spurt of enthusiasm for running on the treadmill, which was similarly ill-fated.

I hit the gym to take my turn on the treadmill for a grand total of five times, running about 3km each time once a week.

I stopped when I realised I wasn't feeling any discernible benefit to make up for the panting, gasping, sweating and aching joints.

Hey, I figure I should be given credit for trying. After dabbling in what, for me, came closest to a fitness regime, I didn't enjoy it enough to take it further.

Ask me again in 10 years' time, when age catches up with me and my metabolism lags. The odds are high that I may answer differently.

I love food too much to give it up but if my poor fitness causes me to balloon beyond my clothes size, I would be sufficiently alarmed.

That would be the motivation I need to endure the panting, gasping, sweating and aching joints.

myp@sph.com.sg

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