Crossing a line

I’ve done it.  All jokes aside about cancelling my gym membership, I’ve actually gone and cancelled my gym membership.


I have concluded that the gym is good for neither my bank balance or my health.

 I do not need a gym full of sweaty people to encourage me to lift things, and  whilst I will really miss the infinity pool, with the money I’ll be saving, I might even be able to afford the water rates in my own flat.

When I moved to Edinburgh I went on a ‘tour’ of gyms. One entirely hideous experience saw me visit ‘Curves Gym’ with absolutely no idea what I was letting myself in for. For those who are equally unaware, Curves is really more of a weight management club than a gym. And thus, ‘centre manager’ Claire – who appeared to require a fair amount of weight management herself – grunted incoherently at me while taking my measurements, before announcing that Curves could definitely do something about my ‘back fat’ and enquiring if my family and friends were supportive of my weight loss journey.

 Great. I’d walked into the gym thinking I was pretty much ok, and was walking out a broken (back fat sporting) woman.

 I told you gyms were bad for my health.

 Of course I’ve done the only sensible thing in light of my gym cancellation: I’ve ordered a Cross Trainer for the flat. Yes I will use it. No it will not become a clothes rail.

 The Boyfriend has promised that he will assemble it for me. Please don’t think I am not able, it’s just that I once spent an entire weekend assembling Ikea flat-pack furniture and I’m worried that the flash-backs alone might finish me off.

 So my cross trainer will be delivered on Thursday ready for a spot of resistance training. Let’s see what we can do about that back fat, eh.