I used to have a black belt in worrying. I would wake up every night around 4am fretting about threats to obliterate civilisation and the effect time was having on my jowls, breasts and butt, which were heading south faster than a migrating goose.
In my 50s, I felt obligated to try to hold back time. I joined a gym and discovered that I would rather be put on hold for hours by HMRC than do deadlifts. And is it just me or does the Pilates reformer have more than a passing resemblance to the Rack?
Then I stumbled upon a way
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