You know it’s time to dust off the running shoes when your six-year-old daughter turns to her mum and says: ‘Mummy, has daddy got a baby in his tummy?’
Since giving up football a couple of seasons ago, my only physical activity in the past 18 months has been a game of football at a recent university reunion.
On arrival at the playing fields, my heart sank a little when I looked around and realised there was no St John Ambulance tent.
Because of lack of numbers, I ended up having to play the full 90 minutes when all I wanted was a token 10-minute cameo at the end.
I can assure you it wasn’t pretty. My legs felt like lead after just 20 minutes.
The government could have followed me with a camera and used the footage in a TV commercial, warning the nation about the perils of lack of exercise.
Even the relaxing sprays of the showers afterwards were tempered when the opposing team came in with pink bubble bath and proceeded to play a game of quick cricket!
I didn’t hang around to see who was bowling and who was wicketkeeper.
The rest of the evening was spent hobbling from bar to bar. The rest of the week was spent not being able to move without pain.
And that’s the problem with starting to exercise again. You see, the body doesn’t like it.
Mine would much rather be sat on the sofa with a bag of Doritos and the remote control.
And even the remote control can get a bit weighty when you get home after a hard day of grafting.
The sooner Sky introduce voice-activated channel-changing, the better.
And another thing about exercising – it makes you hungry. You run for a couple of miles, burn a few hundred calories, and then put a thousand calories back on when the cupboards are raided for sugary snacks.
So if I haven’t mustered up the willpower to pull on my sports gear, I’ll be in with my remote watching the sport.
And what a year it is to watch it, with football, tennis, cricket and the Olympics on.
Much better than doing it yourself.