So many excuses

DD has been on a fitness kick for about three months now. I’m very impressed by his dedication.

He gets up at 5.30am and heads to 6am F45 classes, then sends me gorgeous sunrise shots. He goes on 20km bike rides and kayaking expeditions with his mates. He even came to pump with me the other day. And he sees a personal trainer called The Sand Hill Warrior twice a week.

The Sand Hill Warrior is quite famous around DD’s ‘hood. He’s 64 and wiry and is called The Sand Warrior because he makes his clients run up and down the sandhillls at Palm Beach. He is very accomplished at running up and down the sandhills himself, which must be good practice for chasing around after his three young kids.

I find the idea of having a four-year-old at age 64 quite terrifying. I don’t know WHAT Mick Jagger was thinking when he got that model up the duff recently.

Actually, I do know what he was thinking, but it wasn’t very sensible.

The Sand Warrior is pretty stoked with DD’s progress, he’s intent on re-sculpting him. DD is looking great, though he admits being re-sculpted at age 53 is pretty painful.

Watching his progress is making me feel a bit guilty about my physical condition. All the svelteness I was sporting on The Divorce Diet has long gone. I have quite a belly on me these days.

My boss lent me her Charlie Brown frock as a possible outfit for the Australian drinks Awards in three weeks time and I recoiled when I saw myself in the mirror. Well, I looked OK front on, but from the side I looked six months pregnant. I don’t think Spanx could even contain it. I can’t even blame Freddy Fibroid any more because his blood supply has been cut off.

Every day I wake up and tell myself I will show restraint. Every day I find another reason not to bother.

Last Wednesday it was my boss buying the whole office Mamak chicken curry and roti. It would have been rude to refuse. And then there were leftovers the next day. It would have been wasteful to leave them. On Friday night it was pizza time with my family to celebrate the youngest’s netball win. And yesterday was a visit to IKEA. No visit to IKEA is complete without a plate of meatballs mash and creamy sauce. Om nom nom.

We backed up with dinner at my sister’s: nibbles, lasagne and another outing for the youngest’s new signature dessert: raspberry mousse tart.

I’m not seeing much restraint in that.

Maybe I’ll turn away from the kilojoules today.

Oh. No I won’t. I’m going out with friends for dinner.

Dammit.

Maybe Monday …

Here are some of DD’s fitness photos:

 

Song of the day: Olivia Newton John “Physical” (Glee version)

 

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3 thoughts on “So many excuses

  1. Go the warrior and go DD! Restraint is one of the hardest things as food is so much tied up to social occasions in our society. I see a personal trainer once a week now (with a workout to do at home 3 x per week). She says she eats healthily most of the time, so that she can go out to brunch on Sundays and have whatever she wants. I refused a serve of Tiramisu doing the rounds the other day at an office birthday and felt left out and weird. The head of Comms actually handed me a plate with a big heaping serve of Tiramisu on it and I said no. She looked at me like she couldn’t understand what just happened. Just to add insult to injury there were Tim Tams for those who don’t like Tiramisu! Didn’t have those either. It’s a pressure for sure! I’ve spent too many years saying yes and that’s why I have a weight problem which I’m trying to change. I’m just sick of it.

      • Yeah, well I succumbed a few days ago at yet another office birthday. The birthday girl had made her famous Donna Hay lemon yoghurt cake. When she offered me some I refused it. She said, “Oh go on” and handed me a thoughtfully small piece. So I ate it. Sometimes it’s just too hard, socially, to resist.

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