Beta Mummy, Gym Bunny?

Recently, in a moment of madness and oh-my-god-what-has-happened-to-my-body, I joined my local gym.  I didn’t actually intend to join the gym that day – I walked in on a bit of a whim merely to enquire.  The next thing I knew I was signing a direct debit form and being handed a membership card.

So there you have it.  Beta Mummy is now a paid-up member of a gym.  So far, though, I seem to be more of a gin bunny than a gym bunny.  After a whole week I still hadn’t lost any weight – turns out you have to actually GO to the gym to see a difference.

 

Well, last night I went to the gym, to an exciting-sounding class called Body Pump.  I was greeted by the instructor, a lovely, funny little man called Andy who was unnervingly enthusiastic, about 5’2”, lean as a whippet and with long hair pulled back in a ponytail and pink hair clips.  “Have you been to this class before?” he asked.  “Erm…well the last time I did any exercise at all was about five years ago*”, I said.  “Where have you been?!” he shrieked.  “Erm…having babies?” I replied.  He seemed mildly disgusted at this thought, but soon regained his cheery smile and sent me off to collect the kit I needed.  {*not strictly true – I did try to take up running about 2 years ago}

 

A barbell, clips, an assortment of about 12 different weights, a mat, a step box and various other bits and pieces.  I needed a sit down and we hadn’t even started the warm up.

 

After the warm up I needed a lie down and a stiff drink.

 

After the hour’s class was up I needed an undertaker.

 

Bugger me, this exercise malarkey is hard work!  Do people actually enjoy this shit?!   I’ve signed up again for next week’s class (attendance reliant on me finding a babysitter)….  In the meantime I’m walking like a constipated duck with no knees, I can’t turn left, and I can barely lift my wine glass to my lips.  I had better lose at least half a stone this week.


When Alpha Mummy hits the gym:

 

When Beta Mummy hits the gym:

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