I am surrounded by gym junkies. By people who wake up early and go to high intensity classes, dawn runs & barre classes. By people who gym more days than they don’t. It makes me feel self concious to say the least. Like I am lacking. I’ve had gym memberships. I’ve paid hundreds of pounds to gyms I essentially never went to. However i’m 32 my thighs are chunkier than they have ever been, my hips seem to have been doubled and my skin is rapidly loosing any sense of elasticity. And in 6 weeks I am due in a bikini surrounded by people who on average will be a decade younger than me. Thrills right? But a gym, really?
I considered it. I considered classes for £20 a pop and i even went so far as buying another god damn bikini which is still just gathering dust in a lululemon bag my friend gave me. I googled gyms near where I work, smiled at the fitness first guu in his red fleece and wad of flyers and I took one. I went to my local authority leisure centre and picked up a schedule but a month later I was still closer to becoming friends with the local team at KFC than a gym goer.
Then two weeks ago there was a moment. A metallic pair of size 12 shorts purchased rather rashly during a lunchbreak from Topshop. I have been pining after metallic shorts for yonks. You know, the denim ones slapdashed with silver paint and retailing to fourteen year olds for £50 a pair? well these were £10 and there were loads in my size. At this point i should have let my previously amassed knowledge of sale clothing step in because I broke rule number 1 and I bought them, feeling like I had cashed in.
Then I got home and tried to put them on. Or tried to put them on. And then it clicked. The reason there were so many size twelves? Because this was not a size 12. They bruised my thighs as i tried to pull them up to my waist and there was no chance of doing them up. I mean it almost took to lubing my legs with baby oil to get them off again. Seriously.
So obviously i took them back right? Umm nope. I hung them up and starred at them. They are beautiful dream shorts. I needed to fit into them. If only for my own self worth.
So I scoured YouTube for videos, rolled out my yoga mat,got whip marks on my arms from skipping, a purple finger from attempting a piece of gym equipment in a local park & cranked up a carefully arranged collection of uptempo cringe pop & gone for it. My motto being if it’s jiggling when I move that can only be a good thing. And the more jiggling the better. And I’ve ended up jumping. A lot. 200, 300, 500 jumps a day. Little ones. Quickly. The jumping combined with rounds of sun salutations & a handful of long walks home means that now, the shorts actually do up. Although there not yet okay to go outside in just yet.