Mon, 25 Jan 2010 1:51p.m.
The last time I went to the gym I came home with a ginormous and unexplainable bruise. It might have been my really huge muscles trying to break through, bruising me from the inside out, or it could’ve been because the multitudes of other gym bunnies who were jealous of my super amazing hot body tried to bash me but I fended them off with my biceps of iron.
What? It’s possible...
“What did you do to me, Vann?”
“I didn’t even touch you! Make sure you take photos of that bruise. You’ll need proof. I’ll see you in court.”
I must admit, my bruise was awesome. Incredibly sore, but awesome for story-telling. Everyone thought something terrible had happened to me. Like I was stuck in an abusive relationship or something else equally awful. I’m sure my parents thought I was lying when I told them it was fine, I didn’t have a secret boyfriend who bashed me, I wasn’t an undercover heroin addict who was involved in a covert drug ring, and I also wasn’t into self-harm, I had just got it from the gym. Workmates showed genuine concern about my life outside of work. Even perfect strangers on the street slyly looked me up and down, trying to spot more tell-tale signs of domestic abuse. Vann and I are still not sure what actually happened: proof that the gym is the devil and should be avoided at all costs perhaps?
Every year I am amazed at just how much food and drink I manage to consume over the Christmas holiday period. Actually, pretty much all of summer, really. As soon as it hits November the 17th, it’s like all the parties for the entire year are squished into the 38 days before Christmas. From the work do to the multiple family shindigs, to the friends’ BBQs at the beach and after-parties at their flats, to the flatmate’s cousin’s neighbour’s house-warming: there’s always something happening. But then you realise – and always too late – that a lovely little festive yet oh-so-evil elf has glued itself to you for that entire time, and has forced food and drink down your throat and onto your hips. It’s a phenomenon I just don’t understand.
However, this year was different. I was very self-controlled. I didn’t nibble. I didn’t scoff. I went to all my parties and I didn’t drink. I also didn’t go to the gym – and still haven’t been since the week before the 25th – but somehow I’ve miraculously shed three kilograms since Jesus’ birthday. Also fortunately for my hips, I only get paid on the 16th of every month, and after spending what little money I get paid anyway on Christmas presents for friends and family (oh alright, and for me ..), I ran out of food before the end of December. As Victoria Beckham would say, “Food is overrated.” Lack of food plus long sleep-ins and even longer lazy days at the beach equals forgetting altogether about food and eating, which in turn becomes the square root of losing weight. Perfect.
But despite losing more weight in the last month than I did over my entire eight-week programme with Vann, I am very excited about getting back into the gym. I played my first indoor netball game of the year two weeks ago and actually just about died because I’d obviously left my fitness levels behind at the beach. Sweat poured off me throughout, and virtually every muscle in my body ached afterwards. Last week, though, I went for bright and early hour-long walks around my neighbourhood and I can feel the fitness slowly but surely leaking back into my body. This week I’m planning on returning to the gym where I’m almost one-hundred percent sure Vann will beat the crap out of me and put me into detention for being so unfit. But I can’t wait. Going to the gym is good for my soul.
What I’m reading: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson.
What I’m watching: Zombieland. For the third time. The best movie of 2009 in my humble opinion.
What I’m looking forward to: Parachute 2010: camping with 20,000 other people, round-the-clock music, sun and heat and moshpits and ice-cones, and seeing Lastawake perform live – http://www.myspace.com/lastawake
What I’m dreading: Trying to stick to my one New Year’s resolution: don’t eat KFC for all of 2010. So far I’ve done really well. Then I remember that it’s still January.
What’s made me happy this week: Blue skies and bright days, and a slight breeze at night.
What’s really annoyed me this week: The neighbour’s cat breaking into my house and eating my steak that I’d especially left out to defrost and turn into an amazing stirfry.