It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’ve started off my day by eating chocolate for breakfast.
Not in a Bridget Jones “why am I so single” kinda way. More in a “well, it was left over in the fridge, and it was looking at me” way.
On Friday, I went to my usual Personal Training session. I’m not normally one for spending money on things like personal training…or on life, in general (I’m an ex-accountant, for goodness sake). My thoughts, up until recently, have always been that surely whatever they teach you, you can just do yourself, right?
That’s what I always theorised. But it doesn’t work that way in reality.
Lunges. I hate lunches. Give me squats, deadlifts, pull-ups, whatever…just don’t give me lunges. Or ab work. I just want to skip that area all together. I can just suck in my stomach every time I walk past a mirror and live in a state of blissful ignorance.
But I’m not getting any younger, or so I’m told. So I decided to make this investment.
My personal trainer is great. Great and slightly evil. He’s surprisingly inexpensive, and makes me do the exercises I avoid. Naturally, as luck would have it, he has a penchant for lunges. Abs and lunges. Exactly what I need, considering that’s exactly what I skip.
Last Friday’s session was particularly difficult. By ‘difficult’, I mean I wanted to lay down on the floor and cry 10 minutes in.
As if the pain wasn’t enough, the session also left me with an insatiable hunger. I resolved not to fight it, but to keep it healthy. “I’ll just have extra sweet potato with dinner, that’ll fix it”, I decided, feeling incredibly responsible. The sweet potato laughed, knowing what was about to come.
After I absorbed the sweet potato into my pores like some sort of superhero, I raided the cupboards to try something else. Granola. That’s what the box says…muesli with nuts in it. Kinda healthy. Not really…but acceptable, at least. A bowl of granola for dessert.
The hunger still lurked and my aching legs and sore abs were taunting me. Chocolate. The only thing that could fix this, was chocolate. The pain to chocolate threshold had been breached, and all my hard work was about to be unravelled.
Living 15 minutes out of town, I did the most despicable thing and drove in to town for chocolate. I cleverly purchase a couple of other items to make it look as though chocolate was not the main reason for my shopping trip.
Detergent and chocolate in hand I decided, that once home, I would just have one piece. No, one row. One row is fair. Life’s for living, right?
Six rows later, I was feeling rather regretful. Blergh. I went to bed and vowed to never be left to my own devices with a family sized block of chocolate again.
On waking, it’s Valentines Day. “What a silly day” I pondered, as I looked through the fridge for breakfast.
Two leftover rows of chocolate greeted me and said “mornin’, sunshine!”