The only way I get any kind of exercise which is both physically and mentally salutary is by walking around Manhattan. Whenever we leave here, I will be royally screwed. (Unless we're leaving to move to another walking city, which is just plain unlikely.)
Walking is how I got "exercise" for my semester in Paris, too. Of course then, I would waaaalk and walk and walk, focusing more on the calories I was burning than on the beauty and grandeur around me. And when I got a twinge of hunger? I would pop into a cafe and grab a Diet Coke or an espresso. While this is a great way to whittle yourself down to 90 lbs. and lose bone mass to boot, it's not the most effective way of enjoying one of the culinary capitals of the fricking world. WTF, anorexia?! You're such a douche! Why, of all places and times, did you have to shack up with me in PARIS? The land of croissants beurres and croques monsieurs and foie gras and the gelati on l'Île Saint-Louis, and really the only place one can acquire an acceptable Camembert? Anorexia, you're a real assh0le. I'm so glad I kicked you to the curb while I still live in Manhattan, the home of pizza and falafel and chana saag and bento boxes and Magnolia Bakery and the Union Square Green Market.
Eating disorder recovery is a lifestyle choice. Need to learn how to make the choice? NEDA can help.