I went to the gym yesterday. Not to squat or anything crazy like that, but to swim. I figured if I’m going to get healthy I’ve got to start somewhere, and my pool at home is still looking chilly even though it’s already spring. I’m also tired of making excuses or putting exercise off as if it were some groupie just hanging around waiting for the day I choose her to bonk on the bus instead of the other girl. I’m 32 now and I won’t be here forever, so I’d rather die a slimmer 90-year-old than a fatter 50-year-old.
So there I went on Sunday afternoon, determined to join a gym, patiently answering all the health questionnaires and signing the contracts and commitments and indemnities while my toddler was running around the gym high-fiving all the gym boets in what I will refer to in future as the “boet pit”. Jon was wonderfully patient in watching Aiden and keeping a safe but not too obvious following distance (we’re all about letting Aiden explore and learn independence right now).
First thing on Monday I went and dropped dollabillz on swimming things like goggles, caps and tog bags. It was only as I was getting dressed back into clothes after my first swim session on Monday that I quickly diverted my bulging eyeballs towards my tog bag to avoid a very naked lady’s nipples and crotch (!!!) that I noticed I was so excited to get healthy I didn’t even think to remove the Mr Price Sport stickers and price tags off the new equipment. May as well have had a neon flashing sign with an arrow pointing towards my regrets-getting-fat-gym-beginner status.
The swim session itself was fine. I mean, I only managed about 8 or 10 laps and only had about 3 near drownings. I swallowed so much salt water I am definitely coming back as a sailor in my next life. My first thought was “ok I swam, have I lost 40kg and gained 20 years of life yet?”. I am truly unfit and completely in need of lots and lots of practice. My husband is amazing and was right there next to me telling me I could do “just one more lap” and at one point I even believed him. I was feeling extra confident until I had to pull myself out of the pool and the staircase nearly came back into the water with me.
Fast forward 20 minutes later where I took one teeny tiny step down at the One Stop garage shop to grab some milk and bread and my legs almost gave out on me, right in front of a strange man who must have thought he’d made my knees weak. No, buddy, that was my husband being a water nazi.
So anyway. It’s a start. If you don’t ever hear from me again it’s probably because I drowned in the pursuit of health and fitness. You know, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all that…