That's another fine mess you've gotten me into...

Why do I do it to myself? I'm an intelligent woman (or at least, I used to be). I know my limitations (or at least, I used to). I don't make commitments I have no intention of honouring. And yet, when a friend of mine mentioned that she is planning on starting her own business offering group fitness training sessions in a park nearby, what do I do?

Did I say "oh, that's nice" and move the conversation swiftly on to a safer subject, like religion or politics? Did I suddenly realise the time and make a swift exit, pleading an urgent appointment with a plumber / builder / the school nit-nurse (no, it hasn't happened yet, but it's only a matter of time in a central London fee-paying school, apparantly).

No. I did none of those things.

I said; "What a great idea! Let me know if you need any help, won't you?"

Now, I am not getting hot under the collar at the subsequent brainstorming sessions that followed, the website that I ended up building for her (which in itself is hilarious, because I am a complete novice at such things), or the crash course I gave her this morning on how to open more than one window simultaneously on her computer and how to bcc her e-mail recipients without typing every single address from her online address book in manually. (Yes, believe it, there are people over 30 out there who, if they have never worked in an office, don't know how to do these things. And frankly, why should they?)

No, actually, doing those things was extremely rewarding. I loved every minute of it. It was so refreshing to do something unrelated to nappies, laundry, and wiping snot other than my own off my shoulders. And enabling someone else to achieve their goal is very fulfilling.

What I am getting a little worked up about is this; now that I've helped her set it all up, guess what?

She expects me to go.

And to be honest after all the work, so do I, dammit. But hang on. This is me we're talking about. What was I thinking? I've signed myself up for an hour - that's 60 excruciating minutes - of interval training focusing on stamina, strength building and flexibility in Hyde Park! I know, I know. I go to the gym. More often now than I ever thought I would. But at the gym, you are surrounded by like minds, all plugged in to their i-pods or similar, none of whom make eye contact with each other, because if they do they might see the look of horror on the other person's face when confronted with the red, 'glowing' mess that more than 5 minutes of exercise turns them - well, OK, me - into.

But this? This is in the park. With tourists, visitors, locals walking their dogs. It is, in short, IN FRONT OF OTHER PEOPLE. What was I thinking?

I clearly am potty.

As Boy #1 would say, 'time to get your sports breasts on, mama...'