I’ve been conspicuously absent these last couple of months – this is due to epic amounts of stress on all fronts.  My coping mechanisms have included the following:  I’ve indulged in oodles of retail therapy, satisfied significant carb cravings and have swigged a few too many bottles of sauvignon blanc – and it’s never a good idea to write a blog under the influence of that last one.

Enough was enough – it was time to retake control.  I joined a gym close to the office and vigourously signed up for a few classes.  I was still reasonably fit thus was slightly over-confident in my abilities.  I started easily enough – the Zumba class was sweaty but fun, I did a few cardio-only sessions on the cross trainer, and then I leapt happily into Urban Iron.  Oh dear god.  Utter Agony for the following two days was the result – I really enjoyed the class but chose too heavy a weight set.  Half way through I knew that although I was doing ok, I was going to hurt in the morning.  And hurt I did – ‘no pain, no gain’ was the mantra I kept repeating to myself over and over.  I nearly had to wake Mr ShoeThatAlwaysFits on the Monday morning convinced that my legs were incapable of bending enough for me to buckle up my shoes.   My body had aged 30 years over night, I had to mentally prepare for lowering myself into a chair or heaving myself up again – taking a good 30 seconds each way and a lot of groaning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But I worked through the pain and booked myself onto the same Saturday morning class for the week after, I halved my weight set and got through the whole class and the following two days without any pain.  I’m going to Strength & Tone tonight, I’m on the standyby list for the terrifyingly named RIPPD on Thursday and will be back to Urban Iron again on Saturday.  I haven’t over-indulged on the vino or partaken in an online shopping spreen since getting back to the gym.  Somehow, throwing those weights around is good for the mind, the body and the bank balance.  And that’s good enough for me.