Shagadagadooda, I have charted new waters this week in the quest for fit not thin. For dear reader I have ventured inside a gym, quelle horror! Well I have to admit this isn’t quite the first time, but it’s brand new to actually use the equipment (instruments of torture). My past visits have involved much poodling around; a dip in the pool, foray into the steam room, a bubble in the jacuzzi, searching tirelessly for hot chocolate – you get my drift.
It isn’t that I’m averse to exercise, I like a cheeky yoga session, quite enjoy a swim and surprisingly good in the surf, and nothing beats a good stomping walk. However on account of the half bionic knee the dreaded gym bunnies were calling. Or to be more accurate – much worse, doctors advice (shudder).
Mastered the cross trainer which was actually, dare I say it, rather fun. Naturally I was a little slower than my compadres, who were racing ahead with sweaty bits and bobs. My progress on the exercise bike was stately. All that was required was a little crown, perched nonchalantly (of course) at a jaunty angle.
But, joy dear reader! My knee actually made a revolution – such progress. Am starting to fantasise that one day I will be able to get my Pashley bike, or maybe one of Victoria Pembletons range, wicker basket and tingaling bell ringaling. Ding Dong!
Pictured: Chezza clutching chest after her gym session, luckily her headband stayed in place…