How to start this… I went back to Virgin Active on Tuesday evening for a free 30 minute session with a personal trainer- who wanted more clients to pay her R120 an hour hence I got a freebie. Fun, but no thanx. I haven’t been to the gym in about three years, and even then it was only a couple of months on sister B’s close to expiring contract and only because we look a helluva lot alike. I LOVED IT! I FRIGGIN LOVED IT! Yes- I know- it sounds a wee bit weird, but I truly, truly did. I can’t put my finger on exactly what it was about exhausting myself and not being able to use the sauna that was such a huge attraction- but I thoroughly enjoyed myself every single time I went. Damien went with me, he swam, I walked (and cycled and rowed), and once a week he did circuit weights while I set the machines for him. I missed it sorely when I stopped going, but I couldn’t afford to go back. And then- God bless Discovery Medical Aid’s Vitality program (and God Bless Google and the inventors thereof)! I rejoined- had to give them a doctor’s letter ‘coz I’m asthmatic and horribly unfit- read: overweight – and they didn’t want me suing after I dropped dead on a treadmill! So last year I started seeing a dietician (progress is exceptionally slow BTW- I think maybe a lawsuit against KFC is in order since they didn’t tell me their deep-fried-heavily-spiced-crumbed-chicken can make me fat!) and decided that part of my plan (goal?) to be able to appear on a beach in a swimming costume by December- without scaring the bejeebers out of the tourists- was to go back to the gym. Well, I went, I saw, I giggled myself stupid! Two minutes on the stepping machine and my heart rate shot up to 165 and the gym started spinning! I figured it wasn’t s’posed to do that, and the PT with me got a REAL surprised look on her face! I DID warn her that I was unfit. Then she suggested another form of torture. Picture me on a rowing machine, trying to get the handle thingy all the way to my… err… waist, while being unable to decide whether to go over my E-cup boobs… or under them. Going around them is SO not an option! One stroke over, the next one under, etc… and all the while I’m snickering at myself and trying not to let the PT see that I’ve noticed her noticing my, um, technique and that I’ve noticed her trying not to choke herself as she stifles her giggles! Understand- my boobs have ALWAYS been big- even when I was skinny, so I’m used to finding a way around them and I LOVE showing off my cleavage. She clearly is not used to working with people who are as severely top heavy as I am. My biggest problem? Classic low sugar tolerance- all my “fat” sits between my crotch and my shoulders… kinda like a bubble on toothpicks… imagine a four-year-old’s first drawing of people. Anyhoo- the laugh fest continued when she added some floor exercises with a huge rubber ball (which she explained I had to BALANCE on; with either feet or shoulder blades; depending on which contortionary position she wanted me to do). Then the PT ran away after half an hour and left me to my own devices. So the next day (Wednesday) I was a wee bit stiff in the butt muscles but not much else. I figured it was bearable. Then Thursday- oh goodie- I woke to the stiffness that felt like someone had thumped me in the stomach. Sitting down, standing up, coughing, sneezing, laughing, bending over… all resulted in a muscle “spasm” of the sort that tells you that you actually woke some of them from their very enjoyable long term snooze! Serves me right- I told her I wanted to get rid of my tummy! I’ll keep you filled in on my progress!
There Is Never An Excuse
One in three is not a statistic - one in three is a crying shame.