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

>> Friday, 19 September 2008

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...'


Working mum 19 September 2008 at 21:47  

Repeat after me, "No, thank you, I'm busy"

Let us know how it goes!

Iota 19 September 2008 at 22:13  

So are there times when you put on your thinking cap and your sports breasts simultaneously? I'd like to see that.

Kitschen Pink 19 September 2008 at 22:27  

Time to fall down the stairs when collecting boy no. 1 - even the most persistent gym mistress can't argue with a broken limb! t.x

Tara@From Dawn Till Rusk 20 September 2008 at 00:00  

'time to get your sports breasts on, mama...' Brilliant.
Sure everyone's all 'good luck' and 'you should have said this' blah blah, just take some photos and give us all a laugh . . .

Mom/Mum 20 September 2008 at 01:58  

'sports breasts' oh my gosh that made me laugh so much I just spilled my wine!

ped crossing 20 September 2008 at 05:23  

Is it bad that I am glad it is you and not me? Be sure to give us the blow by blow of how it goes. :)

Bush Mummy 20 September 2008 at 17:56  

Oohh it sounds fun! (well someone's got to be positive). I would join you however my ridiculous three hour round trip school run across four different boroughs won't allow it.

Just think, once you've lost a pint of fluid in sweat, turned a deep shade of magenta, probably vomited, you'll feel so FANTASTIC!!



aims 20 September 2008 at 19:01  

Yep - you ARE potty!

Have fun! :0)

GoneBackSouth 20 September 2008 at 20:43  

Maybe you could volunteer to be out drumming up business and sending people over for the session while it's going on?!

ilana (Helen) Pengelly 21 September 2008 at 06:46  

She has sports breasts to go in her sports bra??? Mom/mum please explain. Does this mean there are date breasts and housecoat breasts. Me -- I have -- baby chewed pancake breasts...... sigh (black box brought me blame it)

sharon 21 September 2008 at 08:20  

Rather you than me PM! I'm sticking to the following mission statement: life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways champagne in one hand, strawberries in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming 'woo hoo!' I understand the strawberries can be replaced or even supplemented by chocolate....

Potty Mummy 21 September 2008 at 13:50  

WM; I do try, really! Just not hard enough, it seems...

Iota, the queen of multi-tasking, that's me...

KP; main problem with that excuse is that I would actually have to break the limb for real - she's a neighbour and would soon spot if I was faking...

Tara, I may just do that. Then you'll be sorry...

M/M - now THAT is a waste...

Ped, you'll hear all about it, I promise; I'm never one to waste good blog fodder!

BM, you're all talk...

Aims, I knew it!

GBS - you know, I actually think I would prefer the exercise? Drumming up the business takes me back to my part time job at uni selling ad space in free papers - and let me tell you, that ain't fun...

Ilana, thanks for commenting and no sadly, it's just the sports bra. Sporty breasts - if I ever had them - are way back in my past... (and what black box?)

Sharon, good approach. I especially like the thought of strawberries supplemented by chocolate. That way you get to cover off two major food groups in one go!

Irene 21 September 2008 at 17:44  

You have sport breasts, huh? I wonder what he would call mine? Deflated ball breasts most likely.

Millennium Housewife 22 September 2008 at 21:05  

If you get really fit and practise hard you'll be so fast none of the people in the park will see you, you'll just be a whizzing whirling dervish. Otherwise, feign illness. MH

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