I lost a pound this week. A pound! I know it’s just a wee pound, but a pound off when I’d been in London? Bonus. Normally I come back with a few extras after each visit, so to actually lose one just made my day.
This month continues to be a challenging bastard. Greasy food abounds. First there was the Wickerman Festival, then London, now this weekend we’re off up north again to do some exploring while it’s still summer. We’re staying in B&Bs which of course means Full Scottish Breakfasts so I will have to tread carefully.
. . .
Have you ever had a moment where your body takes you by surprise?
Last week I was in Edinburgh, walking down Princes Street quite happily when I caught my reflection in a shop window. I was utterly gobsmacked by my butt in motion, and not in a good way.
It just seemed to have a life of its own. Wobbly. Wriggly. Wild. Like two animated watermelons wrestling in a sack.
I admit to some lower body paranoia lately, since I’ve been unable to do LB weights or significant cardio for three months while I’m trying to heal my knee injury. Before that I’d been so pleased with how my butt and traditionally ginormous thighs were finally shrinking – anyone that’s done running and/or spinning for a sustained period will attest to how dramatically it can shape these areas. As the months have worn on I just feel like it’s all slipping away into a blubbery mess. So seeing my jolly rear end in the window just seemed to confirm my fears.
But I pressed on, as I had a train to catch. That was when a young man approached me. You cannot walk down Princes Street without being accosted. I’d already given 10p to a beggar, signed an Oxfam petition and declined to take a survey. The young man had a bagful of books. I think he was one of those Hare Krishnas. I’d been suckered into buying their goods before, never again!
"Why hello there Miss, where are you off to today?"
"Ahhblahmmmffhga, mmmmblahh," I replied. You know, when you wave your hand dismissively and keep walking straight ahead while you do that polite mumbling thing, trying convey your lack of interest without apeparing to be too rude, because even when someone’s annoying you, you don’t want to them to think you’re an asshole.
"Hey," he skipped alongside me, "Are you going somewhere interesting? You must be going somewhere interesting."
"Well you look like you’re going somewhere interesting…" he yelled after me as I folded into the crowd, "… by the way you’re walking! There’s a real wiggle in your walk!"
And that was when I went to the train station and bought the bag of Hula Hoops mentioned in the last entry. Wiggle in my walk? I fumed as I munched, That bastard!
I ranted to Gareth about it when I got home, declaring that my Lower Body Paranoia had been confirmed by both a shop window AND a Hare Krishna.
But Gareth thought it sounded complimentary. We had a bit of a semantic debate. Apparently WIGGLE is nice; if he’d said there was a WOBBLE in my walk I’d have reason to worry. Well I dunno, there’s only three letters difference into those words, and the same amount of syllables.
Either way, I thought it rather serendipitious that a flyer from a local gym had arrived in the mail that day with a bargain special offer. I’d never renewed my membership at the council gym since I can’t do any of the classes right now and the gym bit is always packed with stinky blokes. So the next day I went and signed up at this teeny tiny ladies only gym. Not much in the way of classes but decent cardio equipment and weights. I’ve missed having a gym to go to for a change of scenery, it’s been just me and Cathe for the past few months. Hopefully I can start building up my fitness again and get working on that gelatinous butt. Woohoo!
Hope everyone has a lovely weekend!