It's been looming for a while now. I put it off for as long as I could, but it was almost inevitable. I could feel it becoming more and more of a necessity . . . and finally I had to give in.
I made my return to the gym.
I didn't want to do it. I had all these grand plans that I was going to freeze my membership and use my new flat as my basis for all my exercise. And I'm not using "exercise" as a euphemism sadly. My flat has seen no action of the "good" exercise and not very much of the ACTUAL exercise type either.
The gym is just so boring!
BUT I need the motivation of other people being around to actually do the whole exercise thing. Otherwise I just sit there and watch music TV, curse the fact I don't have a body like Beyoncé post-pregnancy or the girls in the "Blurred Lines" video and comfort-cava-drink (that's a thing, right???).
Sooo I went...
And it was every bit as bad as I thought.
From the two flights of stairs I had to walk up before I even exercised (bearing in mind I now live on the third floor and still breathe heavily six weeks on after doing it at least once a day), to the girls in the changing room invading my personal space DESPITE the fact the place is pretty much deserted, to the actual EXERCISING part.... I did not enjoy it one bit.
My thighs are now actually killing me.
This had BETTER be worth it. It really better.