The gym that is. I've been getting a little over enthusiastic about my progress. I've mentioned a couple of times that I'm enjoying my gym sessions, well, I think I'm addicted. The fact that I've not even lost any weight clobbering the cross trainer doesn't seem to dissuade me from going at least every other day. I know. Those that know me well will snigger at the last few sentences. I have never been one for physical exercise. I am concerned.
The problem is, I feel better now I've got into a routine of going. By better I mean, dare I say it, happier, slightly more cheerful, even energetic. I've been so used to not being any of those things, the last six weeks have come as a bit of a shock.
I have realised two things:
- no-one else is really that bothered and it's really just to please myself
- going to the gym is not going to make me more beautiful
Now, you may disagree with these two points but I have proof. Firstly, does it really matter to anyone else that I'm a size 10 or a size 18? I think not. My family may worry for my health and they may have to wait for me on long walks up big hills but I'm sure that some would only worry if I ate their food as well as mine. Secondly, no matter how many hours you stomp on a treadmill, the wrinkles will not postpone their arrival and it won't change your face. In fact, gym going seems to make me even pinker in the face but, and here's the rub, I don't care.