Saturday 30 March 2013

What's brown and gooey....?

As I slowly unwrapped the foil on the delicious, perfectly egg shaped, not dented at alln Cadbury's Cream Egg, I could hear the soft, smooth sound of the voice over man from the advert ask me the number one question - 'How do you eat yours?'... For a couple of seconds I thought about what my next move should be and came to a decision - Shove it all in. Yep, get it all in there and enjoy. Who cares if the pleasure is over too quickly, it's quality, not quantity. Happy Easter everyone!

I intend for that Cream Egg to be the last piece of chocolate my ever growing stomach will need to digest for a good while now. It's at this time of year people really start to think about their physical state and Easter, for me, is when the gluttony that one has become accustomed too must end, before one looks like a beached whale on the imminent family holiday. Three months ago now, I took an oath to treat my body like a temple and as I've mentioned, I may have taken a few wrong turns on my road to Skinnydom, which mainly led me to the pub but I WILL NOT beat myself up about this, because it's not too late. It's NEVER too late. I shall find the right road once more and refrain from trespassing, just over the way there, on what looks to be slightly greener grass and stay on the dry, bland grass.

There is another way I could achieve my desired goal of physical fitness and general reemness but the thought of it brings back some unpleasant memories. I'm talking about going to the place that was the setting of two of my 'Most Embarrassing Moments Ever in My Life'. I'm talking about....joining the gym...

*Insert day dreamy/flashback wavy lines here*....

In January 2001, I joined my local gym to lose the baby weight I'd gained while pregnant with my daughter. I was fat, had stretch marks, had no clothes that fit me properly and my self esteem was at ground level. I had to do something. I went to the obligatory Induction - with a rather fit Instructor called Dean or Dave or something - and after 45 minutes of learning how it all worked, I was ready to take my fledgling flight into the world of the buff. With determination I walked over to the stretching area, past a sweaty man and over to an empty mat. I placed my brand new water bottle decisively by the edge of it and sat down. Less than two years before, I was doing dance lessons practically every day at college - how hard could this be? It was time to 'warm up'.

I was shown what to do with the aid of a poster on the wall just above me. It showed a kind looking lady in various poses, each intended to stretch out different muscles in the body. She did them well, I'll give her her due, but she looked bloody bored. I however, added a bit of colour to my performance starting with a slight reddening of the face, followed by some louder than intended exhalations. In no time, I was looking the part and already feeling the endorphins flood my blood stream. It felt good! Then a really slim lady came in and ruined it all. It irked me to see her slender form, her toned arms and her legs which didn't meet at the top like mine. Judgementally, I assumed she must have some kind of body dis-morphia because she SO didn't need to be in the gym! What a cow! It soon became apparent that this lady was a real pro. She knew exactly what she was doing and moved seamlessly from one stretch to another. Who was she??? Acting like she owned the place! How could she be so cruel, making a fool of the fat girl like that! I did not like her and I especially didn't like it that she could stretch her leg back past her head while in a standing position.

This was war.

I needed something powerful, something hard hitting.... I went for the stomach crunches. I was scared to do the first one because I wasn't sure if I could even lift my pea head up without groaning but with the might of a woman scorned, I did my first crunch. It wasn't too bad! I'd give her a right run for her money. Who'd she think she was swanning in here, assuming that because I'm podgy I should be in a wheelchair or something? She was going to eat her words! God KNOWS she needed some kind of nourishment. I carried on, 15..16...17...18...19...ooh what was that?...20...Ouch!..20 WOOOUCHHH!! I was having a heart attack! Mid crunch, the pain was excruciating. F@CK! I couldn't breathe. I managed to roll over on to all fours. 'Help'...I whispered. No one was listening! Barbie was busy doing box splits now, leaning forward onto her forearms. BITCH! 'Help'. The pain was immense. I slowly crawled over to The Sweaty Man who was twisting at the waist, looking the other way. I grabbed his ankle like a psycho, my hand slipped on the wetness of his skin. I grabbed again and god knows what he must have thought but before I knew it, he was down on the floor shouting questions at me which I couldn't answer. 'Whats wrong? What's happened? Are you ok???'
'I'm dy...ing...' I said, thumping my chest.
'What's you're name? Quick! Get some help!' he shouted to Her.
'I can't..bre..' the words wouldn't come out!
'What were you doing? Oh my god, are you ok? Just calm down. Breeeeeeeathe.'
'I was...sits..' I roughly pointed in the direction of my mat. This was ridiculous. The pain in my chest was too much to take, I was actually dying.
Sweaty Man sat with me, his only way of helping was to keep telling me to calm down. The tears wear coming thick and fast and I sensed I had a builders bum. I grabbed his shoulder to stress to him the magnitude of the situation, when in ran Barbie with Ken in tow. Ken wore a t-shirt stating that he was an Instructor, thank God. He rushed over to my hunched form, like a doctor.
'What's happened?' he asked Sweaty Man.
'I think she was doing some sit ups or something but I think it's her chest, she's very breathless.'
'She was really going for it!' chirped in Barbie. Ha! So she noticed.
'Ok, I need you to try and sit up straight ok? I know it hurts but it'll help.'
I did as I was told. I followed his instructions (he was a good Instructor) and sat up, leaned back a bit to stretch my tummy and after a minute or so, it eased. I was alive. Turns out I would never have actually died. I wasn't having a heart attack after all. No. I'd got cramp. Which then turned into a panic attack.

5 minutes later, I was back in the cold air and while I sat at the bus stop I called my mum to tell her of my near death experience. 20 minutes later I was still sitting there and out came Barbie, who luckily didn't see me. 25 minutes later out came Sweaty Man, who did see me but had the god grace to just ignore me. He knew I'd suffered more humiliation than any girl could stomach for one day. He was a good man.

It was another 7 years before I dared frequent the gym again. And it was another 11 until my next 'I want to die right now' moment. It was 2011, I'd not long had my son and I decided that I would once again try to tackle the flab. Again, it didn't work. Put it this way, if you wee a little when you sneeze, you are NOT, in any way, shape or form, ready to go on a treadmill.

Upon reflection, I think it's Air sandwiches all round!

Signing out with renewed vigour,

Happy Chops x








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