Oh dear, that didn’t go well, did it.
Since my last post I had visited the gym one, two, let me think – ah! – no, ever.
Which works out as £105 down the drain in monthly fees.
But to be fair, I really had been busy with work and life in general.
And remarkably, my weight creeped down a couple of pounds – and stayed there.
Because as much as I avoided any actual exercise, the curry’s are down to one a month and beer has been turned into wine.
Admittedly, lot’s of wine. But only good stuff.
However in a peak of optimism last Tuesday I ventured underground into the temple of doom, plucked out the circuit that had been lovingly prepared for me, and had a go.
After the third 500m sprint on a rowing machine, I decided self preservation was in order and went home.
Via the pub.
But I returned two days later and, with an instructor hovering nearby to scream ‘no pain no gain you ‘orrible little man’ – okay, simply to check I wasn’t having a heart attack – I set a double course record!
One, of actually doing all the exercises on my card and in under two hours.
I was thrilled, overjoyed. But most of all knacked.
People say exercise boosts your energy levels, makes you think quicker and feel better.
Me? I was staggering around like a drunk man, light-headed as if crawling through the desert crying ‘water-waaattteeer’.
There was a flood alert this week that forecasters put down to heavy rain.
I reckon it may have been my fault with all the fluid I deposited during my session.
Now this week has been a wipe out, genuinely too busy.
But next week? Next week will be better.
Won’t it?
