Day 1. The Catalyst Bride
I spent the morning with Rachel, choosing her wedding dress. She looked stunning. Tall. Tanned. Toned. I looked like a hippo, one of those in a tutu in the Fantasia cartoons, complete with pink face, but minus the gappy smile.I don't want to look like that anymore. I don't want to feel like this anymore. I've been miserable for the past 5 years, which is just about the length of time that I have also been fat. I was miserable before then but I was still relatively slim so had sex occasionally.
I have absolutely no exercise whatsoever. I drive to work ( it's almost 20 miles, what else would I do?). I park on the top floor of the multi-storey, reputedly because there are always plenty of spaces up there and it's good car-park etiquette not to hold others up trying to get into a tight spot lower down, but actually it's so I have an excuse to take the lift.
My office is on the first floor. I usually get a secretary to take things up to the cashiers office for me. It's on the 4th floor.
The furthest I walk in a week is round Tesco. It's a Tesco Extra, one of the biggest in the country. That's actually quite an achievement. I usually buy cheese and wine. And washpowder.
I love to go out dancing. I last did it in 1998.
I spend most evenings sitting on my not inconsiderable arse, on my overstuffed sofa, drinking wine and reading books. Unfortunately my mind has not expanded at the same rate as the elastic in my knickers.
Tonight I didn't.
Tonight I put on my trainers. The specialist running ones which I bought in 2001 for the Race For Life. The ones that look as if they've never been worn. I also pulled on my leggings. I had to sit down for a second to get my breathe back after that. Forget the sports bra. 34D. It's obviously quite some time since I bought that little number. My ordinary bra would have to do, with the straps pulled as tight as they would go, and a lycra training top pulled down over the top to restrict excessive bounce. I must remember to take my glasses off when I run.
Jack is my personal trainer. I ask him to imagine I am an actual client, someone who needs to be motivated and encouraged, someone upon whom his livelihood depends. He responds well. He does not laugh or point. He carries the car keys, probably in case I collapse and poke my eye out.
I step out of the car and wonder if I'll make it to the first bend in the road. We set off at a steady pace. I'm in this for the long haul. It's not a sprint. I make it to the bend and miraculously manage to keep going, although I am conscious that I might not be able to maintain a conversation should Jack attempt to speak to me. I slow as we reach the entrance to an industrial site. I stand for a few minutes to catch my breathe. I imagine I look very red in the face, about to collapse, but Jack says not and persuades me to continue. I get past the next bend and I can feel my shins starting to burn. I don't want to go too far on my first attempt.
I turn round and declare that's enough for now. We've not gone as far as Jack expected, not by a long way, but it's more than twice as far as I thought I'd ever get, and I still have to get back to the car. Jack sets off at a run. I walk, occasionally varying the lengths of my strides and stretching muscles that had been in perma-hibernation for the last half decade. I make it back to the car without need of a defibrilator. It's nothing short of a miracle.
Distance: 0.3 miles ( running) 0.3miles ( walking)
Time: 20 mins
Breakfast: Yawn follwed by a vase of coffee
Lunch: sausage sandwich with caramelised onion relish, chips, 3 cherry tomatoes
Dinner: Bowl of Shreddies
posted by Cherrypie @ 4:47 am
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home