Gym & Other Stories

What the hell is going on with all this Big Brother crap?  On account of my increasing weight I have avoided getting on the scales for many many months, and have only been pointed in the direction of my increasing size by the equally increasing number of lovely clothes that I can no longer squeeze into.  However, for some reason, mid October 2019 Apple Health (other apps are available) picked up my weight.  I mean, how the fuck?  I haven’t stepped on a scale in months except in the hospital (and the date was wrong for that) so how the hell does it know?  The worrying thing is that it was probably near as damn it right so how did it know?  How???  How??!!

For a long long time I held onto the aforementioned items of clothing telling myself ‘a few sessions at the gym will sort that out’.  Unfortunately gyms don’t specialise in blubber reduction (when was the last time you saw a whale at the gym?  Second thoughts, don’t answer that), and also I’m no longer in my early 30s (where I only had to look at a diet meal and I lost 4lb).

For those not already in the know, it’s fair to say I’ve become a fat twat.  The stress of renovating the house has not helped, but I cannot lay the whole blame at the poor house’s door (pardon the pun).  Lack of time to exercise and an all out strike on the hormonal front has also changed the game plan significantly in the weight department.  So ultimately I threw in the towel, and (even though I do regularly) offloaded some tat to charity (mostly muttering darkly along the lines of “Leather shorts?  What the fuck was I thinking?”, “Sweet holy mother of God that’s too ‘young’ for me”).  Shelter have a lot to put up with.  I give my used crap so readily I’m sure they dread handing the charity bags out in our area (“Avoid that house, they always give us shite we can’t offload even to the desperate”).  As a by product of the mass sort out, a lot of my favourite threads were bagged up and put into the lofts (yes we have two, yes aren’t we spoilt?), and I’m just hoping my reduced frame gets into them before the fucking resident mice do.  As a result, I have a full-to-the-brim loft but much more space in my en-suite-to-be-but-currently-a-wardrobe #winning.

Like 50% of the population, come the new year, I decided enough lard was enough when I realised two things:  Even my ‘fat clothes’ were too tight and I was struggling to maintain myself (no, I don’t mean having ‘private shithole time’).  The house was getting me down, unable to pluck my brows due to the crap lighting, unable to do my toes because my belly won’t let me pull my leg up high enough.  Even a relaxing bath offers no respite, as every time I move in the water I’m met with an echo of ripples as my buoyancy coverage maxes out.  Once upon a time I used to have real sympathy for my bigger chested friends, I’d see them on girls’ holidays, drying their legs and their heeeeeooooowwge bazookas ricocheting about like massive water balloons in front of their faces in perfect time to their drying arm action, twatting them smartly in the eyes.  I mean, even some of my shoes are tight now, how the fuck do you get fat feet?  I remember John Bishop asking the same question about back fat…but feet???  Is it because the fat has nowhere else to go it gets that desperate?  It’s got to the point where I dread one of my favourite things (flying) as they double in size and start to ache, and I come over all Munchausen and imagine I’m about to have an embolism.  For that reason I’m less keen on sunny holidays now…that and the risk of being harpooned on the beach obviously for showing too much flesh…

Drastic action was called for.  I was having to buy super fat clothes to cover my lard arse.  On the plus side I now have a capsule wardrobe #winning?  Being of the rural community type, we don’t have a gym in easy reach, but I did locate a local class.  I did have some reticence, after all, being a woman 'of a certain age' I appear to have lost control of my arsehole.  Not quite sure whether this is on account of mass fatness or just bodily functions giving up the ghost.  There was nothing for it, some extra fat gym clothes were bought for the occasion and I toddled along, praying that my cheeks would behave.  It's not like I could blame the nearest bloke in a class full of women is it?  Ten minutes in I was dying, how I made it to the end I have no idea, but still proud of myself.  Weighed myself later that evening and quickly got off after seeing the results.  At least it can only go down??

In an effort to de-stress and to escape from the shithole, we’re partaking in a wee weekend away.  Only problem is, it’s a country weekend away and being accompanied by the dogs a lot of walking will be involved.  That’s great…

…but not when you only have one pair of jeans that fit and your calves are so fat your Hunter wellies create a vacuum against your skin and have to be crowbarred off….