It’s taken rubbing thigh blubber, a weekend of takeaways and an impending trip to the futuristic land of sand (Dubai), but I have finally hauled my carcass down to the gym for a proper workout session.
For me, going to the gym is as much of a mental exertion as it is physical effort. Some people find the treadmill relaxing. A yoga session turns their minds into deep pools of blank water. The interior of my mind meanwhile is more like hysterical todder running around in purple-faced circles shrieking ‘ohgodohgodonly1minutetill1kmandthenicanhaveabreakohbuticouldbreakin30secondsandthenrunmoreafterwardsarrrrrg’ and ‘owowowowstupidwankerfinishtheposealready’ respectively. Given that for the duration of my workout there is this small internal Girl on the ‘Tane freaking out, it takes quite a lot to convince this little grumpy personification of volition (that I imagine looking a bit like Suri Cruise, stomping around my head cavity in glittery Mary Janes) that large podgy GotT should go to the gym in the first place. So when I read that ‘Tane can cause muscle cramp, particularly from ‘vigourus’ exercise, I therefore took it as a green light to not go to the gym for two months.
It wasn’t actually that bad! I thought at one point I might be having a heart attack as I had tightness in my chest, but I think that was actually caused by me craning my neck to watch BBC News 24 on the tv above the treadmill. I also sweated a lot more than usual, but that could just be because I’m a fat chick now (ho ho) or just that I have more of a busom for a river of sweat’s current to be directed down.
Now I just need to see if I can still walk tomorrow…
