There's plenty of reasons to stay away from Facebook.
For example: When the biggest achievement of your day is successfully matching up all of the Tupperware lids with their containers or finally locating the source of the rancid stench exuding from your fridge, it can be hard to scroll through Facebook and learn that all of your friends are achieving far more fabulous things in life than you are.
Looking at a picture of your pal's dinner of seared scallops at The Ivy can makes one's dinner of a fish finger butty with a side of Monster Munch seem profoundly shit.
Or seeing a picture of your friend's new baby sleeping soundly next to a fluffy toy unicorn can make your baby (who has been up screaming all night whilst puking directly into your mouth) seem like an asshole....for want of a better word.
And yes, we all know that people only show you what they want you to see on social media. Real life ain't all that pretty and chances are there's far more going on beneath the selfie of your pal her perfect newborn.
From what I can gather, everyone (myself included) is guilty of exaggerating and embellishing the truth on Facebook.....everyone except for
This time of year, Facebook feeds are rammed to the gills with pictures of our sweaty spandex- wearing pals holding medals up in the air after having completed a 5k, or 10k or even a whole fecking marathon! We all have pals like this and unless they are highly skilled in Photoshop, chances are that they are telling the truth and they actually DID run a marathon.
#SmugOverActiveAssholes #LoveYou Really
It's great news for them.....but it makes all of the rest of us (the reclining, Netflix-watching, crisp-scoffing,Gin- guzzling ,lazy bastards) feel like massive losers!!!
Now, I don't usually allow photos of my super-sporty, high-achieving friends get to me, but now that Winter is over, I have to face the fact that I can no longer conceal my abused body behind a thick, knitted scarf. Summer is here and all THREE of my chins are out in the open. This (more so than the Facebook photos of my fit friends) was all I needed to see to jolt my lazy ass into joining the local running club.
I don't do exercise (unless carrying a 'I-can't-walk-because-the-floor-is-made-of-lava' 6 year old around Asda counts) and I would never normally run....even if a semi-naked Hugh Jackman carrying a tray full of Peroni was at the finishing line. But I was inspired; inspired by my friends, by their medals and by their regular-sized chins.
So, I joined 'The Panthers'.
Designed for beginner runners like me, the 'Panthers' promise to get the most unfit members of society off their sofas and running a whopping 5k within three months.
I was excited! Motivated!!!
I WANTED to be a Panther, not a chocolate-stuffed, arthritic turtle. I WANTED a medal. But most importantly, I WANTED the picture for my Facebook feed so that I could bask in the glory of the 86 comments telling me how amazing, fabulous and admirable I am.
So, I bought the spandex leggings, the fancy trainers, the extra-large bolder-holder and I went running.....for one whole minute. One minute of deep, lung-burning action.....followed by two minutes of walking (and talking with a lush pensioner called Pamela who also is a big fan of Bombay Sapphire).
Then we repeated the same; one minute of agony followed two minutes of blissful gossiping and bonding over our shared love of Curly Wurlys. This was repeated six times before we all did some group stretches and lunges which frightened Pam as she was convinced that her fanny was going to fall off. I was more concerned that I would never be able to get my bolder-holder off and that I would be stuck with a giant mono-tit for the rest of my days.
But, there was no need to fear any of these things! The jog was a SUCCESS!!!
Two days later, Pamela and I met again to continue our training. Just two minutes of walking followed by one minute of running as before. And just as I was experiencing the liberating sting of lactic acid squirting out of my muscles.......BOOM! My ankle went.
I limped home, dragging my dicky leg behind me like an extra from The Walking Dead. And that was it. Game Over!!
I am currently sat on my reclining sofa wincing in pain a whole week after the fatal one minute run that Facebook forced upon me.
My muscles are crying, nerves are niggling and my husband is moaning that he has to unload the dishwasher as I can't possibly stand for longer than 30 seconds; the floor is 'Lava' I told him.
I am broken and useless and may never walk again......all because I fell victim to the powers of Facebook.
All I can do now is sit here, self-medicate with gin, re-energise with Curly Wurlys and update my profile picture.