CRUNCHED

After having been pathetically skinny and a tiny pint-sized thing till age 14, it was a very pleasant sight when I finally managed to cross 5 Feet. The millions of lines behind the bedroom door marking every millimetre proved how anxious I’d been. I was now taller, but still skinny. A few years later, after a hostel diet of Cheese Maggi and Icecream, getting into clothes was a problem. And it appeared to be snowballing.. new jeans had to be bought every few months.

A couple of days ago, I decided that this was the outside of enough. The good life was now a thing of the past. “Crunches” had to be performed.

Since I was a beginner, I decided to treat myself nicely. Only three a day were enough. After all, I was still only at “Pleasantly Plump”.

Gearing myself for a full minute of torture and gut-wrenching agony, I kept my feet together, my fingers laced behind my head, and tried to raise myself.

Funny. Apart from my head, nothing moved from position. I’d try again.. with more zeal, more enthusiasm, I thought. Gritting my teeth together, I grunted. This time my shoulders moved a little. This process appeared to be much more difficult than I’d heard. After five minutes of contemplating whether or not I needed a nap to overcome the exhaustion, I decided that one last try would probably finish me off.

The third time was to be the biggest disaster of them all. Not only did my feet come up from the floor, but in an effort to do the crunch, my arms went flailing, and I half-used my elbows to come up. A somewhat pained feeling in my stomach told me that this was not what was defined as a successful Crunch.

Sigh. Maybe I was destined to stay chubby. It was time for my siesta after that bit of realisation.. At least it was half a crunch and well, half a push up.