So, I had this entry all planned out, about how Terry and I have joined a health club, and how we’re probably never going to go to the health club even although we’ve spent loads of money on it, and seriously dudes, it was going to be the BEST blog post EVER. I mean, it was going to have illustrations and everything.
Anyway, I had it all in my head, and I just had to type it out, but then, WHAM! I got another migraine. And then all hell broke loose.
See, I know I’ve mentioned here before that I’m a hypochondriac, but I’m guessing you all probably thought I was joking, or at least exaggerating. I’m not, though. Actually, I am the world’s biggest hypochondriac (I WIN AT HYPOCHONDRIA! GO ME!) which is why I spent part of this afternoon at the doctor’s surgery. I explained to the doctor that I have a brain tumour and am dying, and he explained that actually, no I’m not, I’m just mad. Well, I mean, he actually said "stressed", but it all comes down to the same thing. So, I think I’m going to use my shiny new gym membership after all. I think I’m going to use it for nice, relaxing things, like the sauna and jacuzzi, maybe the pool if I feel like breaking a bit of a sweat. Not for the actual gym, you know, because screw that.
See, I hate the gym. Actually, I hate all forms of exercise. All of them. Well, I like horse riding, of course, but ain’t too many horses at my disposal, so that’s out. But the gym and I have history. Way back in the mists of time, when I was but a lowly newspaper reporter, I decided to join a gym. I was working two jobs at the time, which meant that I had more money than sense, but also: more money than time. Needless to say, the gym membership didn’t get used too often, and when it did get used, I hated it.
The problem was that the gym I chose was attached to a golf club. All the fond parents would basically drop their kids off at the pool while they either hit the course or propped up the bar, which meant that it was more or less like a creche all the damn time. I cancelled my membership the day a little boy dive-bombed into the pool and landed ON MY BACK as I tried to swim lengths. The fact that I’d just had to stop his sister from kicking down the door of my changing room only strengthened my decision. So I left, and didn’t look back. I had learned my lesson, I thought, but clearly I hadn’t, because a few months later? I joined another gym.
This time I was doubly stupid, and got a joint membership for Terry and I, who were both still living with our parents at the time. We’d go to the gym and Terry would do MAN things like lifting weights, while I walked on the treadmill for a few minutes and then retired to the jacuzzi. Ah, many were the happy times we spent in that jacuzzi after a tough work out at the gym, and by "many" I mean "two were the times we spent in that jacuzzi". Yeah.
Well, time passed and Terry and I decided to buy a house. So that the house didn’t have to be made of cardboard, we decided we had to lose the gym subscription, to save some money. The fact that we hadn’t used it for… let’s just say a long time…. helped here. Then more time passed. Terry got his transplant and became a health freak, climbing mountains, playing tennis and generally being all wholesome and outdoorsy. I went running once, fell off my bike and then gave up exercise for good. Or at least, until yesterday, when Terry popped out to pick up his prescription and came home with two gym memberships. To the gym we used to go to a few years ago.
I can already see how this will end. In fact, as soon as I finish writing this entry, I’m going to go and write my "I haven’t been to the gym for three months now" entry and my "I quit the gym" entry. Well, it’s good to be prepared, you know? In the meantime, though, I’m thinking pool, jacuzzi (laser beam uzi), maybe some nice, gentle yoga… I mean, I can do that, right? And at the very least, I’m sure I’ll get some blog posts out of it…