Pals, something wild has happened. Something unexpected and shocking to us all – I’ve become the sort of person who willingly goes to the gym three days in a row. And enjoys it. I don’t even know who I am anymore! I’m sure you’re all as astonished as I am, such drastic change never happens to me! (What do you mean, I’m ‘always this dramatic and it’s not that big of a deal’? Rude).
I was due to have my second personal training session (I get three free ones with my membership, I’m not rich enough to pay for regular personal training) last Monday, but I had to move it last minute because my grandparents came home from their month abroad (cripplingly jealous, me? Nah) and I wanted to see them. So in a moment of madness I agreed to a half hour training session at 8.30pm on a Friday. Towards the end of the day at work yesterday my mood was increasingly tipping towards ‘maybe I could just reschedule again because Friday night gym sessions are not high on my list of fun’ but honestly I felt it would be more effort to rearrange it again than to just go and only put in minimal effort, so I speed-ate dinner when I got home from work and trundled off the gym, complaining in my head the whole time. And actually, it was great.
I had a different trainer, because the first one had booked himself some holiday, selfishly, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. Turns out, neither was she, and so when she offered a choice between doing a circuit of the gym and having a go at various weird machines, or getting some boxing gloves and pads out and doing a boxing session, I opted for the boxing, predominantly because the weight machines intimidate me. And it was SO. MUCH. FUN. I would thoroughly recommend it. I think I might have finally found a form of cardio that I genuinely enjoy, although I’m not sure what it says about me that that’s punching things…
After we’d finished, the lovely trainer Lauren said she was working all weekend and if I wanted to go in again we could do some more, so I went back this morning. Me. I-hate-running, exercise-is-the-worst, did-someone-say-cake Lang. And I’ve got my core conditioning class tomorrow. Three gym sessions in three days, what have I become?
It helps, of course, that Mum and I have agreed that if we’ve done well with the fitness and weight loss stuff each month, we’ll buy ourselves some new gym wear as a reward. Ain’t no motivation like sassy leggings. I even bought myself cute lil workout gloves to protect my delicate lady hands from the grips of the weight bar. I’m going to end up buying tank tops that say Squat Goals, aren’t I?
I’ve also swapped my normal coffee for decaf in the coffee machine, as it occurred to me (duh) that caffeine probably wasn’t my bestie in terms of my anxiety. It’s only been a week and I don’t really know if I can see a difference, but we haven’t had any more epic meltdowns yet. Huge love to everyone that messaged me after last week’s post about that, by the way, I appreciate it more than I can adequately put into words (bit awkward for a blogger).
I’ve got a colleague coming over for Sunday lunch tomorrow, as he’s German and has never had a classic British roast dinner. I’m feeling the pressure on creating the perfect example of a Sunday roast. Yorkshire pudding with the dinner is a must (even though it’s lamb not beef, #controversial), as are more roast potatoes than any decent human being ought to consume in one sitting – what was that about my new virtous, healthy lifestyle? If anyone has any further suggestions as to how to create a first-class example of the British Sunday Lunch, let me know!
For now, I shall reward my heroic gym-going efforts by slobbing out on the sofa in my onesie and catching up on Silent Witness and Death In Paradise and trying to ignore the carton of custard in the fridge *immediately retrieves custard from fridge*.
Until next time, K.