Last week's session paled into insignificance after last night's torturous escapade.
I knew we would be in for a grueling workout as soon as I walked into the fitness suit – there were what seemed to be instruments hanging from the walls that would look more at home in Guantanamo Bay’s interrogation rooms.
But even before then we got off to a bad start with John after we were 10 minutes late…he was waiting for us arms folded in the gym with that look in his eyes that said ‘I’m going to crack the whip on you two sorry excuses today’.
Before that, though, my new regime had been going well, I’d stuck to the dos and don’ts list that John had so kindly dished out to us last week. I’d religiously written my intake of food down into our food diary.
Until Saturday night when two friends came through from Carlisle for a girls’ night out in Cockermouth, a date which had been planned in our diaries for quite some time. I couldn’t wait.
But a niggle in the back of my mind was the fact I had been asked to reduced, “significantly” according to John, my alcohol intake for the next six weeks.
Now I’m not saying I have any sort of a problem, but I am partial to a beverage or two, or three, or four.
You can imagine my utter horror as I stood at the bar in Hunter’s, on Main Street, after ordering a “significant” vodka tonic (which joined the bottle of rose and three other vodkas I’d managed to sink already that night), and who happens to appear before me…John!
Of all the bars in West Cumbria, he chose that one to walk into.
Normally I’d say I’m quite a quick thinker and any other time I could’ve handed my drink over to one of the girls saying ‘here you are, this is yours. I’ll have a water, please’.
But no, the girls already had their drinks in hand – there were no excuses left to cling to – I was doomed. John looked at me under disapproving eyebrows, I was done for.
He certainly put me through it this week as payback. I’ve been struggling to climb stairs all day and let’s not mention getting back down them again. I’m reluctant to venture out in public for fear of being mistaken for John Wayne, my walk is so alarming.
My sadistic streak though is looking forward to next week’s session. This pain will all be worth it in the end, let’s just hope my glutes have recovered by then.
Published: February 8, 2012
Have your say
Be the first to comment on this article!