I've joined a gym.
Don't say I didn't warn you before you guffawed with a mouth full of food. I'll wait while you dislodge the morsel from your throat...
All better? Good.
Signing my unhealthy life away on the dotted line at the bottom of the gym contract was not something I imagined myself doing. Ever. Sure, I've been a gym member before, but that was back in the day when daddy was paying and nobody really cared if I went or not.
But now I have no choice. If I don't gym at least 10 times a month, I have to pay the full membership fee, which borders on, *gulp*, R500 a month. However, the more I gym, the less I pay - you gotta love these medical aid incentive programmes - talk about motivation!
And even though I inked the deal on 1 January, this was by no means a New Year's resolution - who makes those any more, anyway?
I have to say it though, the sceptic in me has been delivered a hearty kick up the arse by the gym bunny I never knew lived inside me. I'm actually enjoying it and the novelty hasn't warn off yet - two weeks in! This is some kind of record, I'm sure! Even though it hurts like hell, I'm loving my stiff thighs and the extra effort it takes to lift the tomato sauce bottle ever since those push-ups two days ago. It also helps having a fitness freak for a sister and a three-year-old nephew that can't get enough of the kids' club.
Although I don't want to speak too soon and jinx my positivity, I think I'm going to stick this one out. Ask me again in six months though, I might just be swiping my gym card to buy a smoothie from the in-gym Kauai and then walking straight out again with a sheepish, guilt-ridden face. After all, the medical aid just counts how often the card is swiped, not how long you spent in the gym...