I got sick of feeling fat and slow

NOVELIST and tarot reader daisy Waugh, 51, is the granddaughter of evelyn Waugh and daughter of Auberon Waugh. She lives in London and is married with three children. She says: IN MY early 20s I preferred to keep as motionless as possible — except to empty an overflowing ashtray or, if drunk, to dance. I barely moved my body at all.

I used to look at joggers, dressed in their perky Lycra, in much the same way I now watch Hollywood movie stars collecting awards at the Oscars: they were a different species from a different world.

So what happened? As I neared 40, somewhere between having three children and sitting at home in front of my computer, day after day, I got sick of the hangovers; of feeling fatter and slower than I wanted; of the disgusting taste of cigarettes in my mouth every morning. And the bad habits dropped away.

A decade or so later, I may even be the fittest person I know. I still smoke, at parties, and I still drink — but not much. And because, as a novelist, I still work alone and from home, it is easy — not to say essential — to break up each silent writing day with a burst of exercise. I look forward to it.

Nowadays, I go for a 45-minute run at least four times a week, and on the days I don’t run, I drive 20 minutes down the road for an hour of intense, sweatdripping Bikram yoga. I also play tennis at least once a week.

Not everyone would want to do it. Not everyone could — certainly not people who spend hours every day commuting. So I consider myself lucky. And, yes, maybe it’s a little extreme, and maybe I’m just a little addicted to the endorphins. But so what?

The exercise helps me sleep, think and means I can eat whatever I like without getting any fatter. So yes, I’m going to keep on running — until I run out of time.