The Pink Pound

I’m feeling a bit better today.  I can feel the heavy cloud of hormone related misery and illness, slowly beginning to lift. I am less snarky (although my loved ones might ask how one could possibly know this, given generally high levels of snarkiness all year round), slightly less tired, and much less sore and crampy, I do hate being held hostage to my hormones for a couple of weeks every month. It is like having the bus you were happily travelling on being hi jacked by Keanu Reeves and a load of naughty monkeys who don’t know the highway code.

Not fun.

Despite the fact that a movie like Speed, but which replaces the bomb and Sandra Bullock with a load of monkeys that don’t know the highway code, would be a sure fire winner in my book.

Today I have managed to shout less. I have managed to do more. I have managed to have a slightly sunnier disposition.

I think this might partially be aided by the fact that my friend Jenn gave me a very superb lemon meringue pie for lunch. The presence of a lemon meringue pie is always lifting to the spirits.

Anyway. As well as lemon meringue pie I managed to fit in more exercise today. Fifty minutes of swimming, uninterrupted by tutting women, and I have also found a gym that is doing an excellent trial offer for 30 days, and today I went to check it out properly.

I realised, as I arrived, that I was very nervous. Very nervous indeed. The gym is not my natural domaine. Probably because you do not find many lemon meringue pies there.  However, I gave myself a stern talking to in the car park and braved it.

I bumbled about ineptly, but managed to find the women’s gym, which is like a small, pink cupboard full of fierce looking equipment.  There is a much posher gym upstairs, but I figured that while I’m still arsing about I might as well do it in a small, pink cupboard and enjoy a modicum of privacy.

So, I had a go on a running machine. I did not fall off, crash into the wall, get my clothes caught in any moving parts, or cry.  I think this definitely counts as a victory.  I did not run either, but I did have a very brisk walk up a slight incline, and I think that’s enough for my first attempt.

I also had a go on the cycling machine. I was pretty taken with this as I have figured out that I will be able to rest my book on the handlebars and read as I pedal along sedately. No spinning or mountainous climbs for me, thanks. I will picture myself cycling along with a basket full of goodies and a straw hat on, while I read improving tomes.

You can, of course, do all of this on a real bike, except read improving tomes, but I have the added bonuses of the fact that the gym is warm, I’m not going to meet Boris Johnson anywhere, and I’m not going to get wiped up by a pantechnicon on the bypass either.

Today I had to make do with watching Nicki Minaj gyrating around with her unfeasibly balloon animal like derriere. I found it relatively mesmerising if I’m honest, but a book would have been better, and a whole lot less terrifying.

One of the reasons exercising is still high on the agenda, despite me fitting neatly into the clothes I want to wear, is that I have, under pressure from my lovely friend Nicki, signed up for this year’s Race for Life.  I will only be dong 5K, and I will undoubtedly be doing less racing and more hunting about in the bushes for stray lemon meringue pies, but doing it I am, and I need to be slightly fit for it, having realised how unspectacularly fit I was when partaking in the Miranda Gallopathon for Red Nose Day.

So, I am training, in a desultory, lack lustre and probably slightly mad way, but it’s better than not training at all, and if you feel compelled to sponsor me, please feel free to chuck a couple of quid my way by following this link.

There are a whole load of us raising money in memory of the rather wonderful Mrs. Saunt, secretary of the last school I worked in, and which Oscar and Tallulah went to. Mrs. Saunt was the lynch pin of the school, and it’s never been quite the same since she died.  We miss her, and raising money to help other people who still have a fighting chance to beat cancer and doing it in her name would have been something she’d have been particularly chuffed about.

So you can donate on her behalf, or on behalf of someone you love, or you can donate if you just fancy laughing your socks off at the idea of me puffing round a park dressed in pink frills. Or you can just send me your very best wishes.  Whatever works for you.

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