Doing the hard yards, like a pro

Imagine that's a black sports bra.
Lots of sweat pouring down the anguished face.
Arms wedged firmly against the head.
Add a sweaty pony tail to the back.
Then read on....

Now that I'm a fitness fanatic / work of art, allow me to update you on my enviable fitness regime - just to prove that I did not quit within the first week...

Computer says no

Not a clue how to work the treadmill computer.

And it doesn't matter either way, because the bastard thing has a mind of its own.  It knows when I'm about to tap out, my lungs are on the verge of exploding....and that's when it ramps up to the speed of light and I go shooting off the back, straight into the wall.....more than once.

That said, it is an excellent exercise companion.  I spend my exercise time talking to it, trying to come to an understanding, attempting to bargain with it to not ramp up to maximum torture speed and incline...and suddenly the timer beeps and I'm done.

Kind of like going to a gym with a friend and chatting as you exercise in tandem to pass the time, no?

Wearing my fitness on my sleeve

I joked previously about wearing my workout gear in public, so that people would immediately recognise that such a finely tuned machine was the result of exercise.

Karma stepped in, and I spent a whole day last week in a sweaty sports bra, because I couldn't reach the back to undo it.

It was horrific.

I could smell my sweaty self every time I looked down at my keyboard.

I cringed whenever I turned or stretched and was reminded of my damp, sweaty companion.

Finally, when we got home from school, a very puzzled Miss10 sensed my desperation, and negotiated an extra 15 minutes TV time in return for undoing the clasp at the back.

Angels sighed with relief, as did I.

So too would the poor sports bra, if it could.

But wait, there's more

Now, before you ask "Why didn't you just slip it off over your head?"....

I tried that a few days earlier with a sports bra that didn't have a clasp.

Do you know how difficult it is to remove thick lycra when it is wet with sweat, and you're still puffing and panting, in a weakened state from your 4km marathon?

Forget handcuffs.  Whack a damp sports bra on any offender, then have them try and remove it over their head.  They won't be going anywhere in a hurry...

I wrestled it up to just below my neck before I realised I'd reached the point of no return.

No going forward / up, and no going back / down.

Hands shooting straight up in the air, wedged up against the sides of my sweaty head.

I jumped up and down.  I wiggled.  I swore.

That bad boy was firmly wedged around my shoulders.

I had to run downstairs - hands flapping up above my head - and beg #1Hubby to help me, so that I could free my arms in order to punch him in the face for laughing so hard.

Running under the influence

I've worked out that I have a very poor sense of balance.

I run like a drunk.

I have the treadmill set up in the corner of the room, and I get super psyched about my supreme physical abilities if I go 5 minutes without coming within a sweaty stray hair of side swiping the walls with my face.

If I close my eyes for even a few seconds, I fly off the back of the treadmill and into the wall.

It takes a lot of focus to try and remain upright, forward facing, in the middle of the conveyer belt.

The kids have worked this out, and take sick, sadistic delight in asking me random questions while I'm jogging - just to watch my little brain implode with the effort of paying attention to them and my balance at the same time.

The whole breathless attempts to wheeze out a response is just icing on the comedic cake, for them.

Will it ever end?

All of that said, I am not giving up.  I've got just 3 weeks until our cruise, and we've decided to splurge on the all-inclusive booze package.

So I'm kind of working in reverse, attempting to off-set the impending glory of 13 days of open bar (and free kids club all day and night = lots of bar time) on the high seas.