That is not ‘the’ question, but it is a question I’ve been asking myself for the last half an hour. It’s been a while since I did any exercise, and much longer since I went for a run. I’m scared, I’m tired, I want wine. The thought of it is actually making me feel anxious. It’s raining outside, it’s dark, what if I get attacked? Not that I would ever go running during the day when people can actually see me.

To write or not to write? That is the question I’ve been asking myself for as long as I can remember. The toss up between knowing it’s a massive passion of mine, knowing that it comes naturally to me to play with words, knowing that I’ve felt a sense of guilt and slight but prevalent emptiness since I stopped. Friends, no doubt frustrated at my constant excuses, telling me ‘Just write! Just do it!’ And of course they are right, and are part of the reason I have started to type right this very second. But when you’re prone to depression, anxiety and procrastination, well they all rub along very well together, and often creativity doesn’t get a look in.

So, to put these two things together. Two things I know are good for me, but that I habitually avoid. What could possibly go wrong? As I lie here on the sofa on a Monday evening, Netflix in the background, another night of crisp and dip dinner, I decide to start writing again, for the first time in months, possibly over a year. Why? Because I have been meaning to forever. I have been saying I’m going to do it forever. I’ve said it over and over, In conversation. I’ve said it to the point where people probably roll their eyes and pity me. But now, I am finally doing it. This is exactly how I, and I would wager many, many people, feel about exercise. And exercise is what has made me want to write again. Round and round and round we go, will I do either pursuit? Who knows!