It’s not the first Monday of the year but the last. The first being January the 5th. But, like always, I’m going to attempt a health kick. And I always like to start those on Mondays. It makes my little brain happy. You’d think that starting something on January the 1st would make my silly little brain explode with happiness. Right? WRONG!
Why? Because I’m a resolutions snob. And am also increasingly aware of my own fallibility. So I’ve created a ‘clever’ get out clause whereby I start my health kick in December thus avoiding the branding of a New Year’s Resolution.
There’s absolutely nothing wrong with a resolution. Nothing wrong at all. In fact, anything that encourages people to embrace healthier lifestyle choices or improve their career prospects or anything positive like that has got to be a great thing. But I’ve just failed at so many so many times. I just can’t do it to myself to jump on the doomed wagon. So instead, I’ll start on January the 29th. Boom. Job’s a good ‘un.
I also like to delude myself that this means when I strut into the gym today my fellow gym goers will gift me with a brief nod of the head and we’ll all know that we are morally superior for being here in December not January.
My plan is to chat to as many people as possible – you know, get my face out there – that they’ll all erroneously think that they already know me (since I’m being so familiar) so that when January the 1st or the 5th swing round and I’m at the gym, we can all share our morally superior smiles while watching newbies fall off the back of treadmills. Amateurs.
I’m aiming to further cement my veteran gym status by wearing really really REALLY old gear. Maybe I’ll even hit up a few charity shops for some old London Marathon t-shirts. As long as they’re post 2000 then I figure that’s plausible. As long as no one actually watches me run.
I suppose I should add for honesty’s sake that the old capri pants I’m planning on wearing aren’t actually a deliberate style choice. More that I refuse to spend good money on clothes that I can’t enjoy wearing. And if they happen to go see-through as I crouch down for some squats, well then, I’ll just have to wear some big black granny pants and make sure I’m facing the wall, won’t I?
On that note, it’s time for me to pull on those unreliable Lycra butt huggers, climb into that poorly engineered sports bra and throw on that (legitimately earned, for a change) Great North Run t-shirt. First one to slide backwards off the treadmill is the loser. See you there!