I came close to totally loosing my shit yesterday. No specific reason but I put it down to a combination of incomprehensible world news, high pressure in the air, nursing my poorly baby and not having a moment to myself for days.
It was only when Mr R forced me down the gym to literally run the stress out of my body that I began to ease up, so thank you loving husband but most of all, thank you Lionel Ritchie. It had been a good few months since I’d visited the health club (apart from to use the dreaded soft play) because, frankly, I find exercising such an unnatural state. But I was willing to do anything to get me away from the house yesterday.
I stepped onto the treadmill, plugged my headphones in and switched on the TV just as Lauren Laverne was introducing Lionel Ritchie at the Glastonbury Festival. I cockily cranked the pacemaker to 10Km/hr and just went for it and, miraculously, it didn’t hurt – I was too busy swimming in the collective Glasto love.
“YES, this is a sign”, I thought to myself. The universe is delivering me this gift. I am meant to be in a strop and banished to the treadmill so I can watch the entire joyous Lionel Ritchie set in peace which will enable me to run non-stop for 45minutes without noticing and go home feeling loved up and grateful.
I can’t work out whether it was ‘Dancing on the Ceiling’ or the running that was giving me such an endorphin rush, either way, I felt great. It’s so easy to make excuses for not exercising when you’ve got work and family so I am going to have to consciously make time for it, make time for me. Not only will it keep me sane and healthy but I’ve discovered I can actually watch some decent telly at the same time…three times a lady!
Hello exercise. Sorry for not being around. My mind has been asking after you for a while not to mention my bingo wings. I just needed my Fairy Godfather Lionel Ritchie to sprinkle some party dust on the proceedings. I’m back now and have a whole new bag of tunes to keep us going.