Serious cliche

I just joined the Gym.
Hopefully I won't become another one of those, joined-the-gym-in-January, gave-up-the-next-day statistics.


I just had my first interview with spunkrat Craig, at a nice big gym just 2 blocks from work. 2 blocks? Why didn't you join earlier? I hear you say. The answer, mes amies, is because anything that makes me red, sweaty, and my boobs wobble that doesn't involve me and another naked person is on my verboten list. I just hate exercise. Always have, always will. It is simply not in my nature to get up and go somewhere just to crack a bead, as my brother in law would say.


A workmate and I both look at each other all, you're weird, when she says Oh I go for an hour's run to chill out, and I'm all, oh really? I like to support the country's wine industry and drink a bottle or two.


BUT the time has come, the walrus said, to use it or lose it, and my goal is to hit 30 in December and be able to touch my toes for the first time since I was 8. (Hey, I have freakishly short arms - like Matthew McConaughy. Seriously. Have a look next time). I also hope to get rid of some of my bingo wings, but because I am naturally an endomorph (curses!) this will be difficult. Madonna I certainly never will be.


So it's off to the gym 4 times a week, and gorgeous Craig recommends Spin and Circuit classes. I immediately started panicking at the thought of being the one falling off in a heap, bright red and panting like a emphysemic bull on heat, while everyone else is madly pedalling away, all secretly laughing at the rhino in the corner.
Paranoid? You know it. But I have to stop caring what everyone else thinks and just get on with it...in 3 months it'll be me smirking away.


Oh yeah and I bought a new car today. Pics coming soon! In the meantime, here is a scarily close up shot of my feet, encased in my new sandals. I like to call them Boudicea. Don't laugh at my yam toes. They're covered in OPI Candy Apple Red if you're wondering.