Sunday’s delayed post:
I know it’s weigh day tomorrow and I’m not very hopeful with regard to my success this week in my quest to lose weight. I decided a couple of hours ago now to take to the treadmill in an attempt to shed some last minute ounces… knowing it doesn’t happen like that. What do they call it on the show? “Last chance work out” or something?
I started off walking and then realised that wasn’t going to do much damage at all so I decided to put on some running shoes (both myself and the kids laugh when I ask where my running shoes are… we can’t deny the irony associated with the word ‘running’ and anything like what I do).
Of course up to this point I had been wearing ‘walking’ shoes and as my hilarious daughter pointed out, at least buying them was a step up from ‘rolling around helpless’ shoes which is the only footwear I was heading towards ever requiring.
So, suitably attired in running shoes and with my son accompanying me on his new guitar with some lively running music I embarked on my slow jog on a slight incline at first.
I had to stop after a couple of strides to go and change into my new ‘running’ bra, I’d forgotten about that hammock like contraption which I’d purchased while we were away. While I was changing I thought I’d give the kids a laugh and cut off some black leggings, making them more like lycra cycling shorts and I swapped my baggy tee shirt for a rather snug vest top and put my toweling hair band (used for when I’m doing my beauty routine), around my head a la John McEnroe.
Needless to say when I descended I was met with raucous laughter and slow clapped back onto the treadmill. My daughter took a photo which she promised was purely for posterity and would never be shown or shared with anyone other than the three of us unless I expressly gave my permission. I hope one day to have the guts (or lack thereof) to be able to share it with you just for the sheer fun of it.
By now over half an hour had passed since I first decided to have my jog. I turned on the machine, I started to jog, five or six paces, slowly at first and then starting to gain some rhythm I notched the machine up, ten or so paces, I was going strong, this was going to burn off a good 10lbs I was certain of it, I was there for the long haul, I would fight through the pain and breathlessness when they both hit and just like they do on the show I would notch up one mile and then another and then another.
Just then the forgotten oven timer sounded and everything stopped for dinner. I apologise for my lack of focus but slow cooked lamb with seasonal vegetables comes first and I was excused my inappropriate dinner dress, just this once.