Exercising routine

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What with having to put in increased hours of study for the board exam, and therefore using hunger as a form of distraction, my daughter has begun to claim, in recent weeks, of having put on a little weight. "You're fine," I insisted, but, of course, I don't count where she's concerned.

"My best friend in the whole world who is my enemy number one now said I was fat," she wept inconsolably, checking her silhouette in front of the mirror.

"Get some exercise, Fatso," said her mother hard-heartedly, "if you hang around home eating the whole day, you're going to get fat."

"See," said my daughter accusingly to me, "even my mother thinks I need to lose weight." "All she's saying," I suggested, "is that you get some fresh air and exercise."

"I'm going to wake up tomorrow morning to go running before I leave for school," my daughter told me; "will you wake me up?" I assured her I would, but never for a moment thought she was serious.

That night, at a formal dinner, I picked up the mobile to find it was my daughter calling to ask what time I would wake her up for her run. "Er, how how 6'o clock?" I suggested.

"That's too late," she groaned, "wake me up at 5.30, and please don't forget." But what with reaching home late and figuring out that she didn't really need to wake up at the crack of dawn just to go for a jog, I set the alarm for 5.45.

When I woke my daughter, she was livid. "How can I get ready in time for school if you wake me so late," she asked. Since the school bus never comes before 7.15, I said she had more than enough time for a half-hour jog before getting ready for school. Nevertheless, I promised to be more vigilant the next morning and wake her on the appointed half-hour.

Usually a grumpy morning face, she was amazingly alert when I woke her up the following morning. Would I join her for a run? No, I passed, I was suffering from lack of sleep from yet another late night. But I did want to see why she wanted to wake up so early.

It took her a while to pull out her clothes. "Should I," she asked, "wear my pink tracks or my green ones?" "Why is that so important?" I wanted to know. "Because I need to match my sneakers with them, and one has pink stripes," she explained, "while the other's black and is difficult to match with anything."

"You're just running for exercise," I started to interrupt, when she laid out her jewellery box before me: "Which pair of earrings do you think will suit me when I'm running?"

By the time she'd selected her tracks (pink) and sneakers (pink again) and earrings and belt and hairband, and brushed her hair and was all set to go, it was a good 45 minutes later. Having seen her off at the front door, I'd just about hauled myself back to bed when the bell rang.

"You're back very fast," I said opening the door to my daughter, "are you through already?" "What do you think," she retorted. "First, it's impossible to run with these earrings, they get entangled in the hair. Then, these shoes may look trendy, but they're hell on the soles of your feet. And," she asked, "do you know how heavy this belt is?"

"Does that mean you won't be running from tomorrow?" I asked in secret relief. "Don't be silly," she said, "of course I will, but can you wake me up at 5'o clock instead, so I have a little more time to get ready?"