Waistline Wars: Jammie Dodgers vs The Elastic Trousers
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Fiona sat at her desk, eyes glazed over, staring at the never-ending stream of emails that demanded attention. It was a typical work-from-home Monday, the kind where the hours seemed to crawl by, and everything felt just a little too overwhelming.
Her inbox was a digital nightmare, bursting with unread messages that had multiplied since Friday. The sight of the growing email count made her brain hurt. Clearly, a caffeine boost was in order if she was ever going to conquer this mountain of emails. She needed something else, too, something sweet to take the edge off.
In the kitchen, a fresh, unopened packet of Jammie Dodgers called to her. "Just one, while I make a coffee," she promised herself. "Well, one while I make the coffee, and one to take back to my desk."
After all, what kind of monster eats Jammie Dodgers in odd numbers?
Back at her desk, Jammie Dodger in hand, Fiona took a single bite. Ahh, the combination of jammy goodness sandwiched between two crumbly layers of biscuit perfection. Bliss. It was the kind of treat that made her momentarily forget both the ever-expanding inbox and her ever-expanding waistline.
Once the Jammie Dodger packet was open, it was a slippery slope into jammie heaven. Without even realising it, Fiona had returned to the kitchen for a second round of biscuits, and then a third. Because, of course, one Jammie Dodger was never enough.
Nibbling away as she tackled another email, she felt an odd satisfaction as she tried to avoid dropping crumbs on her keyboard. Time blurred into a hazy routine of work, snacks, and the occasional glance at the clock. Every new task justified another biscuit. As far as Fiona was concerned, biscuits were now officially a productivity tool.
Hours passed. The packet of Jammie Dodgers, once proudly unopened, now sat crumpled and empty, a victim of her unintentional snacking spree.
Ah yes, the moment of realisation. We’ve all been there. The empty biscuit packet stared back like an accusatory witness to her crimes.
But the truth was, the Jammie Dodgers weren’t the real problem. They were just the latest symptom of a larger issue, her slow descent into an increasingly inactive lifestyle. Working from home had shifted the way her days flowed. Gone were the spontaneous walks to the office kitchen or the chats with colleagues as she stretched her legs between meetings. Now, her days were defined by long hours in front of a screen, only broken by the occasional raid of the snack cupboard.
Even worse, she couldn't remember eating the last Jammie Dodger. They had vanished as if by magic, like a sweet, biscuit-shaped black hole had appeared in her stomach, pulling every last crumb into oblivion.
As she sat back in her chair, Fiona felt the waistband of her lycra trousers digging into her midsection, pinching her skin with a silent but persistent protest. Lycra was forgiving, yes, but only up to a point. These trousers had been her trusted ally through the ups and downs of work-from-home, but now, they were creaking with the reminder that lycra really only stretches so far.
It was then that Fiona realised her true opponent wasn’t the biscuits, it was the sedentary routine she’d fallen into. The work-from-home routine that meant she rarely left the house on busy workdays and sometimes barely leaving her desk chair.
Feeling the heavy weight of the lack of physical activity, Fiona knew this was more than just a Jammie Dodger problem. It was time to make a change.
She glanced around the room, her eyes landing on the neglected resistance bands hanging limply over a chair. Naturally, the resistance bands weren’t used nearly as often as the snack cupboard. They hung over the back of her chair like the forgotten New Year’s resolutions they were, silently mocking her every trip to the kitchen. But for now, they were easy to ignore.
Her plan was simple: a bicep curl break (instead of a biscuit break).
Fiona stood up from her desk and stretched, her back creaking as if it, too, was protesting the lack of movement. The growing tightness in her waistband nagged at her again, but it wasn’t just about the weight. It was the sluggishness, the lack of energy, the feeling that her body was becoming more of an afterthought with every passing day.
She picked up the resistance bands, gave them an experimental stretch, and thought back to the days when she used to squeeze in a gym session before work. That version of Fiona felt distant, almost fictional now.
“Five minutes,” she muttered, setting a timer on her phone. “Just five minutes, or 100 bicep curls, whichever comes first!”
As the timer began, Fiona flexed her arms, pulling the resistance bands with determination. She imagined herself as a warrior, each curl a symbol of her triumph over unhealthy habits. "One. Two. Three," she counted aloud. Each repetition felt like a small apology to her waistline and a commitment to do better.
When the five minutes were over, though it felt much longer, Fiona returned to her desk, arms tingling. She glanced down at the waistband of her lycra trousers, hoping they would be a little more forgiving after her first attempt at an Active Break. They, however, remained as tight as ever. It would take more than one five-minute workout to win this battle.
She sat back down, determined to avoid the kitchen for the rest of the day. "I can do this," she muttered, scrolling through her inbox.
As the clock ticked on, Fiona felt her willpower waning. Would the biscuits win? And there were also crisps and chocolate in the cupboard. The snacks were waiting, biding their time. The waistband war was far from over, and tomorrow’s wardrobe choices stretched to the max.
Still, Fiona wasn’t ready to admit defeat just yet. She stood once more, eyeing the resistance bands. "I’ll be back for you again tomorrow," she thought, as she gave the waistband of her trousers one last tug.
