Since we are in a recession, work have been looking for ways to cut costs which is fair enough so long as I don’t become the cost that they are cutting. One of these measures has been to move us to a new car park… in Salford – which is technically a different city!
The car park is a bit creepy and there have been a few break-ins already, as a result I have decided to park my car even further away from work at some flats on the outskirts. This is forcing me to walk an extra 20 minutes everyday that I wouldn’t normally walk. So this is a tick on the old increasing the incidental exercise box along with ditching the lift. Not that it is making much difference as I am increasingly despairing at how out of shape I am starting to look.
I can’t fake tan, because I’m still waiting for the laser treatment from the July list. So far my last 3 appointments have had to be moved for one reason or another, and in this time my skin has turned from white to blue. You can’t have any pigment in your skin when you have laser hair removal as it attracts the laser – but I’m starting to look dead rather than just ill.
My spots are getting worse, even though I’m trying to eat better. It could be because, anytime I catch my pizza face in a mirror, I get drawn in like a zombie, pinching and squeezing my face until I finally decide I’ve done enough damage for one session.
My belly seems to have taken on a life of it’s own. My weight was going in the right direction until it revolted. Sending messages to my brain to ignore Paul McKenna and literally EAT ALL THE CAKE. It doesn’t help that husband is working his way through Levi Root’s cook book and I’ve entered into a world where everything in our house is now cooked with buckets of rum and coconut milk!
Anyhow, I’m digressing from the actual point of this post. On Thursday, I was walking from work to my car. It was about to rain so I thought I would play the catch someone 100 meters in front game (from the August issue). Squinting to see who to catch, I spied my target. A girl in a bright pink coat so I couldn’t lose her.
I started picking up my pace, trying not to look like I was power walking – totally focussing on the pink coat in the distance. But it didn’t seem to be enough to gain on her. So I picked it up even more. Now it’s no shock to 90% of people, that I do no exercise. So even this was a bit of a strain on my old legs, when I got to about 20 meters behind, my legs were aching and my face had begun to twist into a snarley frown.
I still couldn’t catch her – so I pushed again. I managed get beside her, “yes” I thought – “done it”… But then I realised that I couldn’t just continue to walk beside her along the road. That would make me a random weirdo that’s chasing her… which is exactly what I didn’t want her to know.
I couldn’t fall behind her, because she had noticed me beside her, but the bitch was just so fast. Trust me to pick someone that walked like bloody Roadrunner! So I gave it one final push. It felt like chariots of fire, I was powering down the road now, arms swinging, legs stomping.. on the cusp of a jog. I could feel my heart beating so I knew it was doing something. But I was really happy with myself, I had, for once, pushed myself in exercise (rather than my usual stroll on a running machine whilst watching the TV once every 3 years).
About three minutes later I heard a rustle from behind. To my absolute horror, the Roadrunner had noticed that I was racing her…. And decided to join in!!???!! With what looked like ease, she powered on past me, face forward not looking me in the eye to seal the deal. I couldn’t believe it! Open mouthed I started doing the half walk half jog thing mum’s do when they go to catch the bus. But the bitch just kept powering on forward.
“Right” I thought, time for drastic action. I crossed the road so I could walk parallel to her… and broke into a jog. She had her hood up now, so couldn’t see me from the side. I thought I’d mouth “Fucking bitch” in her direction – just to add to the competitive spirit!
Even with me doing my skippy jog walk, Roadrunner was (with many shopping bags may I add at this point) just breezing forward as if it was natural to walk that fast. She was bloody Olympic.
Luckily for my ego, and my legs, she then turned down a side road.
It made me realise, along with a few dodgy photos this weekend – that I’m going to struggle to avoid the exercise much longer. I am still a million miles from supermodel still only sitting a few yards away from mess.
