It’s not my fault. Not entirely.
I’ve genuinely wanted to get to the gym. Even once since my last post would have been good.
It just hasn’t happened.
The first week I was under siege at work.
No matter how hard I shoveled through the paperwork, the writing and the meetings, the window of opportunity each day just slipped by.
This week should, and in truth, could have been different.
But yes, it was bust.
Of course, I didn’t actually have to go for that pub lunch on Tuesday, tempted by the pie and chips on offer.
And on Thursday I had a perfectly good salad to devour.
So why then did I end up having Thai Green curry, albeit with boiled rice.
Guilty?
I suppose so.
I don’t feel any fitter. But for that matter, I don’t feel any fatter either.
In fact, a stone and a half has disappeared from my frame since January.
So now I’m more Orc than Orca.
The half time pies at football have gone, so too most of the beer, fine wine now the alcohol of choice.
And taking mutley out for a walk has become an enjoyable past-time, which is training, of sorts.
But it is beating a path to the gym that has to be sorted.
Encouragement of sorts, however.
One colleague claims to have joined, another is heading for a trial next week.
It could be they shame me into going.
Whether they do or not, I’m going to aim for three days minimum next week.
Three days of bone shaking, muscle pulling torture.
Yes, next week.
Next week will be better. Won’t it?
