It has come I’m afraid to look closely in the mirror (not not the one that makes you look thin girl – and we all have one of them) and assess the fitness situation.
And maybe the weight situation.
I’ve been a blobby lardy arse for more than a year now and it shows.
My faithful black pants that have been with me through thick and thin are now too small. That’s a bad sign. I’m a d-cup. And while Groover seems to appreciate them – that is also a bad sign.
But you know I could put up with that.
What I can’t have, simply can. not. have, is Groover being the fit and healthy one in the relationship.
The “my-body-is-a-temple-that’s-temple-of-doom-people” Groover. Who had the same pair of running shoes for 15 years before they wore out. Who doesn’t eat fruit. Or salad.
Groover has been getting up at Sparrow’s Fart and walking – at a very brisk pace – for an hour in the morning and sometimes in the evening as well. (he says it’s the new sandshoes)
He’s been eating fruit for breakfast.
And having seconds of salad at dinner.
And this evening – he asked if I’d like to go walking with him?!
Well! The nerve of this upstart fit person!!
Who is he, to condescend to ask me, a person who has done three detoxes and joined several gyms (for a while), to go walking. Pfft!
But you know, I think I might.