Today a jumper fell out of the laundry basket and all I could do was look at it helplessly and say:
“I guess that’s where you live now, buddy.”
Don’t be alarmed that I spend my day talking to inanimate objects, it’s not wholly unheard of that I apologise to chairs and doors when I walk into them.
I would use the whole ‘it’s lonely being a stay-at-home mum’ line but:
1. I don’t think these things are my work colleagues (especially after Simon the mop made that inappropriate joke, that one time.) and
2.I’ve been doing it my whole life
Anyway, back to the jumper – the jumper is now a resident on my stairs because I can’t bend over to pick it – or anything else – up. In my 900th attempt to get fit and lose weight I’ve decided to start the gym.
So far I am not enjoying this experience and I am very vocal about it, especially to my ‘workout buddy’ Sarah. Buddy seems too kind of a word, more ‘workout bully’.
She’s one of these god-awful people who want me to push myself and try new things – ugh, the worst.
In my defence it’s really more of act of selflessness that I remain woefully unfit.
In the past, we’ve done bootcamps together but after a series of family members ended up hospitalised, I’m beginning to believe I’m jinxed.
At first, Sarah thought that I was exaggerating but every single time I join up to one of these bootcamps someone ends up in hospital.
Ozzy has had numerous admissions with croup, I had an inflamed artery in my brain, my sister was struck down by the curse at the start of the year and my mum was the final victim in my selfish attempt to be able to walk up a flight of stairs without a stitch.
Really it’s of benefit to the general public’s overall health that I stay away from any type of exercise.
Unfortunately, Sarah did not buy into this theory and managed to convince me to join a gym – rationalising that because it wasn’t an actual bootcamp then I may not be the cause of anyone else’s demise.
I managed to disprove this on the first day when Ozzy was taken to A&E with his poor breathing three hours after I signed over my direct debit details to the place.
I suppose I deserve all this bad karma, in the days that I go actually go to workout I’ve turned into one of those unbearable twats that HAS to post on some form of social media that I’ve managed to roll out of bed and go to the gym therefore making anyone that sees it feel bad for not doing the same.
In short: I am a gym w*nker.
I’ve become one of the people I mocked in the past and unfortunately my family members are paying the price with their own health.
Despite me telling them I will happily give up this latest quest to become the world’s shortest super model, they assure me I have to keep going but they’ve been given permission to punch me in the face if I start working in the phrases ‘clean eating’ or ‘no pain no gain’ into everyday conversation.
I have a day off from it tomorrow and that’s probably best, I will need the ability to bend down to pick up a child at some stage.
I’ve been told all this work will be worth it – no pain, no gain and all that. Ah fuck, just punch me.