These last few hours have been defined by p-a-i-n. If I bend over to zip up my boots, my thighs and bum screech in protest. When I slide my arms into the sleeves of my winter jacket, my shoulder blades groan. If I stretch my arms over my head to lift down clean towels, my arms shudder and plead that I not – NOT – lift them higher than shoulder level. My abs are a constant torture, my calves… hang on; my calves are actually quite okay. Whatever. the long and the short of it is that my entire body is dealing with the consequences of this new leaf of mine. You see, I have for the first time in four years entered a gym.
I must admit to toying with the idea of doing so for some time. I’ve walked by the gym on a number of occasions, I have browsed their webpage, but until last Wednesday that was as far as it went. For some reason, at 17:40 on Wednesday I reached a tipping point, and in I went (from there never to return…). Chirpy, very nice gym boss met me at the counter. After some moments of chit-chat she asked me what my goals were with my exercising.
“Bikini summer 2013? Do you think it’s realistic?”
Nice gym boss looked me over. “No.” (Ouch! Plus, now that I think of it, is she so nice??)
She smiled. “One must set oneself achievable targets.”
Right. Except that I still have this fantasy in which all it takes is a deep breath, a Spoonful of Sugar (okay, okay; not the best choice when aspiring to trim waist and power thighs, but I rather like that song from Mary Poppins) and hey presto! Voilà your new, remodeled you. Let me tell you, with the number of deep breaths I’ve taken in expectation of this event, I should have been runway material by now. Back to reality – setting achievable targets.
The sensible me smiled back at the gym boss and said, “I’m really here because I want to be healthy, feel strong.” The vain me was falling over laughing, because both my mes know that what I really, really want is to coast down the Paris Boulevards in a red sports car wearing a tight, tight black dress, sunglasses and masses of floating curls.
“Healthy is good,” nodded the gym boss, but I could see she didn’t believe me. Maybe that’s why she recommended a class called “Deadball”. The name in itself should have warned me off, right? Instead in I went, and now I’m more or less dead, while the ball, as far as I can see, is hale and hearty.
It was a right relief to a sore and exhausted me to return home, switch on the computer, and realise I’d been nominated for the “Very Inspiring Blogger Award” by My Desire For Inspiration (how wonderfully apt!) If you haven’t visited this blog yet I recommend you do – but you must have a certain tolerance for candid – excellent – writing on all matters.
All awards have rules, and this is no exception, the rules being:
1. Display the logo on your blog.
2. Link back to the person who nominated you.
3. State 7 things about yourself.
4. Nominate 15 other bloggers for the award.
5. Notify your nominees.
1 and 2 I’ve already complied with, so let’s jump directly to number 3.
7 things about myself.
1. I have an avid interest in whisky and bring home all sorts of bottles – mostly Scotch or Irish. But I have never tasted a drop…
2. While words is my first passion, I do love the numbers with which I spend the daylight hours as well. Not to the point of going to extra classes in xls, but close.
3. I was once nominated for the Venezuelan Soft ball team. My dad refused to allow me to change citizenship, so there went that athletic career down the drain.
4. I write prose in English, verse in Spanish and Swedish. Have tried writing prose in Swedish, but I can’t get it to sing for me.
5. I HATE flying. Ironic, given the amount of travelling I do in my job.
6. I talk. A lot, too fast.
7. I have just turned a new leaf and am celebrating with a bowl of ice cream as I write. (What? Not a good start to this new leaf thing?)
Some of the below enhance my knowledge, some spread a sensation of warmth through my body, all make me think and all make me grow in one way or the other!
Loyalty bind me