It wouldn’t come as a surprise to those who know me (in person or virtually through this blog ), that I am not big on serious exercise.
Don’t get me wrong – I am active. I walk for hours on the week-ends, try as much as possible to take the stairs (high heels permitting), feel like I am constantly running at work and of course spend the best time of my week-end actually running after an energetic toddler.
What I mean is “proper” exercise, you know, the one that involves sweating (not that I or any of us lovely ladies EVER sweat, n’est ce pas?), wearing some kind of Gym gear (shock!) and releasing that much sought after endorphins reward (or so they say).
Truth is – I have never been big on any kind of “official exercise”.
In high-school, I did the usual mandatory running, jumping, swimming and team playing.
At College, there was no such thing as exercising. But I was not drinking or smoking so I thought that was a good balance. I am young. I can pull it off. I was told I will grow to regret it later. But who cares if I am fat and unfit when I am old (like 30 years old).
When I joined the working force, with all that time sitting in transport or at my desk or in meetings, I realised I needed to do something. This is when I started the cycle of my yearly subscription to the Club Med Gym….only to attend 3 times per year: 1) the 1st time full of hope and REALLY wanting to become a Gym Addict, 2) the 2nd time 2 weeks later to prove that I was STILL serious about my resolution and 3) the last one 1 week before my subscription ends, 11 months later, out of sheer guilt. And the cycle went on for years.
Then, I finally turned 30 to realise that yes that cellulite is now more easily winning the battle for its place in the sun – literarily. So yes, 30 but actually not feeling THAT old. And as a matter of fact, not that much looking forward to the prospect of giving it all up (and by all I mean looking kind of decent…ok sometimes even good when I am in a good mood).
Thankfully, that was also the time I discovered the magic of personal trainers, courtesy of Hubby and my new London life.
See, Hubby moved to London quite some time before I did and to kill all that free time he consequently had, he wisely decided to get himself back to the Gym – not that he needed it – and indulge in one of those London’s Gym favourites – a personal trainer.
2 consequences really. One, I have seen his body completely transform (and so did my girlfriends ) which kind of proved to me that Gym & Co actually works-when-you-do-it-seriously. Second, he kept insisting that I should really try his trainer – Denis – as he was sure he would be able to get me (back?) into exercising.
Intrigued by that statement, I decided to give the Gym and Denis a try.
And you know what? Hubby was right.
Denis was the ideal combination of i) fun ( I love to talk whilst doing anything including exercising so I need a decent sparing partner), ii) expertise (he was by far the fittest trainer in the Gym and trust me that was an achievement – and as I liked to tease him we could steal anyone’s bench and nobody will challenge us as they would be scared he would kick their butts), iii) genuinely nice (he wouldn’t have kicked anybody really) and iv) female psychology (although he still couldn’t get over the fact that I was eating some kind of chocolate every day or being resistant to just “carry some chicken breast slices in my handbag” to fight those sugary cravings. No comment).
So I started training 3 days a week and surprise-surprise, it started showing: “noticeably” toned arms and legs and even some kind of abs. I loved it so much I thought I would never stop.
Then, I got pregnant and kind of had to stop.
When my son was 2 months old, I went back to the Gym and Denis in a bid to get things back into shape before the summer (Heidi Klum did her Victoria’s Angels thing 6 weeks after giving birth – so everything is possible, no?). As it turned out, no. Newflash – getting back in shape after pregnancy IS hard work. A lot of hard work. And despite my motivation, and for all the right and wrong reasons (I am too busy, I am too tired, I want to spend the majority of my time with my son…), I stopped going to the Gym.
Now 2 years later, I feel it’s about time to go back. Why now? I can say the threat of bingo wings arms. I can say the prospect of lumpy tights. I can say the ever present hope of getting some abs. But in reality – boring alert!- it’s just to be healthy.
See, I have noticed that I have been continuously on/off sick and generally unwell for the last months and I suspect the biggest favour I can do myself is getting back on that Gym wagon.
Enter the Gym Diaries – basically a chronicle of how I will get myself back into exercising. (disclaimer: please do NOT to expect any before/after pictures in my underwear or any of me exercising for that matter ).
Ok – watch this space for Part 2.
PS- No, this timely posting on Easter has nothing to do with the quantity of chocolate bunnies I have been eating. No, no, no.