Why the gym is bad for you.

I didn't intend for this to be my next post, but hey, what can I say? I like to mix it up. So I'm post-poning the tale of my shoddy excuse for a career so far for another time. Now, unemployment has many down sides, but today I had a horrifying realisation....

I no longer have an excuse for why I don't have time to go to the gym.

I'd liken my relationship with the gym to that of an all-consuming, toxic, obsessional tryst. We either can't get enough of one another or we can go months on end not seeing each other without a passing thought. Any occasional and rare thoughts are filled with guilt and regret sending you plunging into the biscuit jar/ wine rack/ secret chocolate supply to soothe the painful memories.

                             This is hanging on my wall. Nothing like a bit of positive thinking.

You know the relationships, they make you feel bad about yourself all the time (seeing your bulges magnified in tight lycra, and realising how horrifically unfit you are when you're not able to get out of bed the next day, whilst simultaneously feeling that in fact you're not actually getting any thinner)  but you just can't let go, hence why my gym membership has been zooming it's way out of my bank account every month because I just can't bring myself to cancel it. Instead, I hold on to the the hope that one day, we might get back together.

                                                                I wish I was rich

I went back to the gym this evening for the first time in about 5 months. And as I sit in bed writing this, full of self-loathing at how unfit I am, I can't help that tiny glow of happiness that burns inside me, thinking that this time, maybe everything will be ok, that we've both realised our mistakes and changed and I will have a bikini body to rival Gisele Bundchen come June.

I guess this means we're back together...