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:
