Push-up

The National Drinking Weekend is well and truly over. I'm going to have to spend the next few days eating vegetables on the rowing machine recovering.

When I first joined a gym, nervous and disorientated, the enthusiastic fitness instructor asked me, enthusiastically, "So, what are your reasons for joining a gym then?"

Um, what? Is that some kind of trick question? I want to look good naked of course. Her pen is poised over the form she's filling in. So I answer her question with a question, making my voice go up at the end. "I want to look good naked?" She smirks. I can't think of any other answer! What other possible reason could there be for joining a bloody gym? I'm not here for the sweaty gay guys. Christ.

Sometimes, after a particularly good workout, I like to stand stark naked at the full-length mirror, flexing my muscles and scrutinising my body, standing one-footed on the scales to see if it makes a difference. The other girls walk past me giving me funny looks as if to say, "What are you doing stark naked at the full-length mirror, flexing your muscles and scrutinising your body, standing one-footed on the scales as if it will make any difference?" But I ignore them. I don't have a full-length mirror at home. And anyway, I never realised that's what my bum looks like when I bend over like that, my head between my knees.

So yeah, the National Drinking Weekend is well and truly over. When the instructor makes us do "push-ups" this week, instead of lying there face down on the floor taking a little rest, I'm actually going to try the "push" bit. By next week I hope to have completed at least one "up".