Yesterday I started my exercise regime for 2010. By regime I mean that I begrudgingly agreed to accompany the toolman on a bike ride while he ran next to me. I only agreed because he promised it would be a ride around “the block”. I later realised that “the block” actually included three or four of them and two decent inclines.
I haven’t been on a bike for about ten years so wobbled my way to the end of the court where we live. Because the first part of the ride was downhill and I didn’t trust the breaks- the first 50 meters was more of a shimmy as I propelled myself along on my tip toes. “Pick up your feet, pick up your feet!” the toolman encouraged me. After that I was off, laughing, woop-wooing and picturing myself as Rachel McAdam’s character in The Notebook, riding after her love Noah….until…well until I got to a corner and then a mild incline. The tip toe shimmy returned and Noah (I mean the toolman) was now way in the distance.
I was wobbling on a main road and excruciatingly embarrassed by the “ding ding” heard by passing bike riders (just to piss me off they were all in full lycra! I was in daggy track pants and an ill-fitting bra!). Then all of a sudden my bike stopped…or I stopped is probably more accurate. I was red and sweating and had only got a few hundred meters from my house.
Toolman eventually returned to see what the problem was. “I can’t do it! The gears don’t work”. In truth, I was having trouble standing up, suffering from “jelly legs”. In a panic, I told toolman to continue on without me, hoping that I would just be left alone to deal with the puffing, sweating and general discomfort. And then he did. And then I was furious. For I was left on a main road, with a huge hill in front of me, and a complete physical inability to get up it on the bike. Of course I could have turned around but decided I would not be beaten.
I ended up walking whilst wheeling my bike beside me. Ridiculously, I jammed the gears so that the wheels crunch-crunched all the way home. Rationale for this being that if someone wound down their car window they would assume from the noise that the bike was faulty, not that I’m a fat lazy cow. And yes, in truth, the whole saga was a “win”; such is the state of my terrible physical health and fitness.
The motivation behind all this discomfort is quite clear at the end of the day. I can already hear a collective sigh of recognition from fatties all around when I say…I want…one day…to wear a pair of blue jeans and a white singlet…and look bloody great. I dare to dream that the singlet is paired with a skinny bra strap, seductively draped over a protruding collar bone. To give you a picture of my current bra strap situation, I bear all – I currently wear an 18E (and even that’s a squeeze)! What are left for me on the rack are two inch wide beige-brown hoists, accompanied by a cup that I’m sure a small team of civil engineers have created. This of course would be lovely if I had a tiny little waist to go with them, but they do sadly have their own shelf to sit on.
But don’t worry my fellow granny-knickerbockers! We’re on the move!
…just don’t put me on wheels…
P.s. (WEIGHT LOSS WEIGH IN): I approached the scales today with naïve optimism; for how many calories can really be in eight soft white rolls consumed with delicious dip smeared all over them? But the news my friends was surprisingly good- I lost 500 grams (1.1 pounds). Ok, ok, nothing earth shattering but I was willing to gain a little to enjoy the Christmas cheer. And so it has begun. The total now stands at 10.9 kg (23.98 pounds) and I shall be documenting my weekly triumphs (and failures) as stats in the Weight Loss Progress page on this blog.