To G who's fab and not at all a bully

You may have noticed my references to the gym in recent weeks. If you look back over the previous three years on Tea Stains, such mentions were scant. Alright, non existent.

The gym and I are not natural friends. It’s not that I dislike exercise… it’s just that given a choice I’ll plump for a good book on the sofa. So, yes, plump I got.

And plumper and plumper.

A while back I was listening to myself declaiming that someone I knew wasn’t taking responsibility for their situation. It wasn’t related to their weight but about something else entirely but as the words left my mouth I had a moment; *Ping!* it went. Maybe it was hubris, I don’t know, but in my case it was a weighty light bulb moment, relating as it did to the size of my arseage. I wasn’t taking responsibility. I was waiting for someone else to show up and do it for me. And then I had this horrible realization that no one was coming.

OMG: I had to do it?

It’s not only about getting slimmer, but about getting fitter and stronger so that I’ll be okay in my future. I am also trying to sort out certain mechanical problems too – impingement in my left hip and my right shoulder which cause occasional pain.

The worse thing about all of this… is the sense of déjà vu because I’ve done it all before. Oh yes. Yoyo? Indeed; the yoyo has nothing on me. I can do all tricks, "walk the dog," “through the tunnel” and the fat lady (oh no, that’s not a trick, that’s me.) Of course I’m talking about yoyo dieting not the game on a string (I can’t do any of those stunts either.) It’s bloody depressing losing the same kilos over and over again so this time it’s got to be for good.

And honestly, I dislike the gym. It’s so boring. But this time I’ve got a magic charm: G. She comes to our gym three times a week to bully motivate me. And I do actually quite enjoy it when she’s there. But still, when G’s text comes ‘Jenny, I’m leaving now – I’ll see you down in the gym’ I still react like one of Pavlov’s dogs in his less well known experiment: *Tut! Huff! sharp puff of air through rubbery lips!* It’s like this physical response – if I were speaking, it might be: ‘Oh FFS’ - to the realisation that it’s nearly gym time. All this in spite of the fact I feel better afterwards.

So I’m trying to retrain myself. I’m trying to find a new approach to my feelings about the gym and the text message. I do feel good after I’ve been – I’m trying to be mindful of that. When G’s texts come in now I take a deep breath; suck in my cheeks and I smile. I contemplate feeling good afterwards: ‘The gym with G?’ I think. ‘Great.’

And then sometimes, I'll "eff and blind" all the way down to the sixth floor.

Health and safety in the gym

There might not be many areas of my life I am in control of at the moment (Son’s GCSEs, where will be living after July? What shall we have for supper tonight?) but are I should be able to take control of is fitness.

The gym and I are not natural friends. We might be able to affect a liaison of some description but frankly, most of the work is done by me. The gym doesn't really give a toss if I try to be friends. Anyway the best part of five years I've been mostly ignoring the spectacular gym we are privileged to have on the sixth floor of The Towers. Apart from one time four years ago when I joined in a circuit class and then for a whole week after that I lost the use of my knees. They had to be permanently locked straight. For a whole seven days I couldn't lower myself down onto a chair, a loo; I couldn't walk down steps - thank god our apartment is on one level. To get into bed I had to sort of fling myself at the bed from a stiff, straight legged position, howl with pain and hope I landed safely.

After a couple of years of recovery from post traumatic stress, I got down a couple of times to use the equipment and another time, I nearly fell asleep in a yoga class there too because I couldn't understand a word the teacher said. In truth usually my bed and a book wins.

Anyway, I appeared to reach a period where I was ready to have another go with the gym. So this week I've been down on Tuesday and Thursday and as a result, bending my legs is very hard to do again. The knee locking has made a reappearance and I’m climbing in and out of taxis like an octogenarian.

It's the equipment too, isn't it? To make sure I'm working in the right... zone? Is that it? The fat burning zone, my friend told me I need a heart monitor...(Ker ching, sports industry.)

I also need a sports bra. I don't mean to brag - I hate it - but to not wear a sports bra puts lives around me in danger. I have two of these contraptions but since I last needed them (clearly to protect myself from hastening back into the gym) I've put them somewhere safe.

Western women on the whole are larger in the bust department than their Thai counterparts. (I’m worrying about my stats here, and not being coy.) So I set off today for the Marks and Spencer concession in Central Chit Lom. Yes they had sports bras, they even had models made in a range of sizes but they only stock the Thai sized cup sizes. I can’t wear two, can I?

I think Western women should be obliged to wear sports bras for breast health, but what to do? Personally I think there should be a law to say they have to sell them in all the sizes!