Alas the demise of the thirty-something has me in its clutches. A fun packed night these days involves a hot brew and an episode of Game of Thrones. Preferably curled up under my cosy chinchilla style white blanket in my best PJs and slippers. Of course there is the occasional glass of wine, but that usually ends up giving me a headache and flushed face. Nope its time to admit that I am now well out of the cool zone. Rubber stamped by the fact that I cannot stand gin. Its no good to me it just tastes like tree.
It was always said that life begun at 40 but nobody ever told us that once you hit thirty things start to head south. I don’t mean the kind of south for the winter kind of south either – well unless you mean my tits. They are definitely in search of the equator.
I have to say the decline of my health, waist line and ability to withstand large amounts of alcohol certainly crept up on me. One minute I was a lively, go-getting, stay up all night twenty-something. I could squeeze into the latest fashions and I didn’t feel out of place in All Saints and Religion. I could rock a spray-on pair of jeans and a backless-frontless top with minimal tit tape and a towering pair of knee high boots. Nowadays the only way I could handle any of the above would be to have scaffolding rods under my nipples, and an exceptionally strong pair of spanks and blister plasters. Of course being less concerned about being cool and more into my creature comforts has its benefits. I can honestly say that no fucks are given about what other people think. Finally I can have my pixie haircut and geeky glasses, and not give a monkeys whether either look like I just got off the cover of Vogue. (Trust me I don’t, but like I said, no fucks given). Equally so I have no issue leaving the house in my ‘dog walking’ coat if its pissing with rain. I guess in a way the thirty-something period is quite liberating.
Still the one area that really gets my thirty-something knickers in a twist (believe me those gran pants can still get bunched in your fan-a-lan) is that I am ridiculously unfit. Yes I know we should all be gym-going, smoothie drinking yoga masters – but I am not. The crux of the issue is my love of food, all food really but top of the list has to be cheese, english breaksfasts and chips. None of these things are helping my declining waistline. Now whilst I may still look a size 10 on the outside, inside I have fat person arteries! So, I have set myself a challenge… I have decided it is time to undertake a couch to 5K programme.Ok so when I said I had decided it made it sound like a new idea didn’t it? Well that’s not strictly true. You see I decided this over 2 months ago. In my excitement I brought some new running shoes and a running outfit. (I said I didn’t shop at All Saints any more, I didn’t say I had given up shopping!) My shiny new trainers have sat untouched since I unwrapped them. Except for the day I lent them to my mother to walk round Birmingham in… I think if I am totally honest with you, and myself, there has been more couch to kitchen than couch to 5K.
To save myself from the slow demise of a thirty-something and to I have decided to share with you all my journey to fitness. It’s not going to be pretty – in fact its probably going to be quite sweary and sweaty. Keep up to date with how I am doing by following my story here. Oh and if you see me lycra clad and red faced, just walk on by and avert your eyes. It will save us both a lot of embaressment…