Yesterday I went to the gym. Now normally the only real exercise I do is running to the sweetie cupboard. Tearing into the packet. And frequently lifting chocolate blocks into my mouth.
Admittedly I do sometimes stretch my face muscles with a technique known as cramming.
But now hubby has been having back problems and we’ve decided that there is no better way to while away the mornings than with a sweat-a-thon at the local gym. Well, at least somebody decided. It may have been a doctor.
Yesterday was check-in day. We had the chance to do a test drive and also be tested.
Michael, our trainer is nice. He has, what can only be described as a really good sense of humour. Throwing fitness figures about and comparing me to a 75-year-old woman. Joking with me about how to sit on a bike. Hysterical.
Then he teased my husband that with a bit of work, he could soon have the body of a 25-year-old.
I daydreamed for a moment, then thought:
Fuck! What have a 25-year-old and a 75-year-old got in common?