Yes, I know, posting every four months is hardly a document of my uninteresting life but it's better than nothing. The alternative is me sitting here every day and typing "watched several episodes of the West Wing" over and over again. Still, I like the West Wing so don't get lippy.
Today is yet another of those first-days-of-the-rest-of-my-life days where I resolve to change myself. manage to do it for a few weeks, and then just go back to the West Wing. I joined the gym today, well, I joined last week but had my induction today. I went over at 1pm expecting a run through of the machines but instead Dean, my personal trainer for a grand total of 40 mins, insisted I actually did some excercise. Dean was a nice guy, but far too fit for his own good. It's a strange struggle for gyms, if the staff are really fit then it will make the vast majority of gym goers feel like leathery gelatinous blobs, but if you employ yoghurt-faced Milky Ways then the gym-goers will think your gym is shit.
I'm inducted though, I know how the machines work and how I don't. I even did some sit-up things on a big rubber ball, not only does it look like I'm diddling a space hopper, it also bloody hurt. No pain, no gain though - which I believe is Newton's sixth law.
Dean assured me that I'd burn off the wobbling mass of goo orbiting my belly and tit "in a month at the most" if I go to the gym three times a week. That's sounds promising, but then so does Extreme Makeover, the proof of the low-fat pudding is in the not eating.
