My fitness project has no deadline. At least not for as long as I am alive. Photo: Thinkstock.

It’s been six months since we last saw each other, now we have a lunch date and as soon as my friend sees me she exclaims: ”My dear GOD, you work out a lot!” The exclamation is followed by: ”How do you have TIME?” and: ”It CAN’T be HEALTHY to keep on like that”.

Since she follows me on Facebook and Instagram, she’ s pretty up to date with my training habits. I can see how she’s giving me the glance-over and I notice the relief in her eyes when she realize that I haven’t become Twiggy-thin.

– What is your goal? she asks a little later when we tuck into the poached salmon.

– Well, to feel good, I answer.

– How? Lose weight?

No, not necessarily, I explain. I am rather trying my best to stay the same weight, since it’s been a bit tricky to keep the pounds off during the last few years, due to an under-functioning thyroid gland and errant female hormones.

– But you are getting completely obsessed, right? she persists. Her tone has change and is now a bit prickly, it’s obvious that she’s provoked by the fact that I exercise more than before, a reaction I’ve also noticed among other acquaintances.

Once again, I am forced to put my work out habits into proportion: I try to move two hours a day, five days a week, may it be walking, running or doing classes at the gym. But in all fairness, there is 24 hours in a day, which means I am mostly sitting on my butt or sleeping for the residual 22. My friend hum before she asks:

– But, when is your deadline?

That’s when I realize – I have none. Sure, my new lifestyle is certainly born out of a desire to be in decent shape when I turn 50 this autumn. The project had a starting date, but has no end. It’s not like I am going to stand up on my 50th birthday on September 18 and exclaim: Finished! No, I will walk, run and weight train as best I can, for as long as I live.

Now – there’s a deadline worth talking about.