*stands in the kitchen in my running gear* Christ, these shorts are tight. Feel like Daisy Duke. Need to sort a playlist first. Rage Against the Machine? Too rocky. Rocky? Ah, the Rocky soundtrack. Never fails. I can feel the calories burning off already. *spends 20 minutes building a playlist* Where are my running shoes? This house is a shithole, I’m surprised we haven’t misplaced one of the kids yet. When did I last wear them? Feel like I’ve not exercised since puberty. As usual, they’re in the porch. And yes, they stink. No surprise there. Smell like cheesy puffs. That porch is filled with spiders, I bet they’ve all crawled into my shoes. Little bastards. *puts shoes on in* Bloody hell. I’m knackered. Arthritic hippos move with more grace than me. Shall I not bother? No, I’ve got to do this. I’m growing tits here. Best do some stretches first. Although you’re not supposed to stretch cold muscles are you? But I have just run down the stairs so I’m...