Hot and sweaty

I couldn’t put it off any longer. I’d made enough excuses to Husband, to myself. I had to do it. Now my inner thighs are killing me. I kept hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but my body-fat ratio demanded action. It was time to start jogging again. I gave it up six months ago. It was painful. It was boring. I hated it. I switched to early morning strolls, much more civilised. But they didn’t burn the fat. And, since I appear to be incapable of maintaining a diet for more than 24 hours at a stretch, those calories need to be consumed by something other than my spare tyre. I kicked off my new exercise regime in the infamous avenues, to keep it interesting. There are four of them. I ran up one avenue, wheezed and stumbled across the block, then ran down the second. Etc. Etc. I couldn’t remembered which avenue was the “social” one, so I scoped them all out. Hmmm, young guy sitting insouciently on his verandah wall, smoking. Bet he’s into it. Dodgy bunch, those smokers. Old guy waving goodbye to his son? Maybe, 40 years ago. Gang of hunky landscapers? Bit of alright, but probably out of area. Old lady blasting her radio at 6am? Trying to drown out the noise from all that illicit shagging. I chatted to some avenue dwellers at Carols By Candlelight on the weekend. They live in the second avenue and reckon all the action must be in the third. More reports of jolly fraternisation were produced as potential proof. Meanwhile, my wife-swap ruminations sparked a report from Hong Kong of hanky-panky expat style. It’s all about golf-cart key swapping up there apparently. But my friend only has a bus pass, which she reckons wouldn’t cut the mustard in the key bowl. Anyway, back to the jogging. It wasn’t as bad as I thought, quite endorphin-boosting. Until the next morning. Then it was brutal. I was supposed to jog again yesterday, but the rain was gouting down. It’s supposed to rain all week. Shame.

DIET TRANSGRESSIONS: A mouthful of brown sugar pav at dinner, mmmm. Oh, and I probably should have stuck to one entree – not two – instead of a main. Especially since both were delivered to me at the same time, and the second came with added protein in the “green goddess” sauce, a squirming slug. Where are the chooks when you need them?

TONIGHT’S DINNER: I’m going to my final script-writing lesson, so it’s a handful of nuts and sultanas for me. Husband and the Sprogs? More Latina ravioli, I reckon.