Maybe it was me turning thirty and the disturbing realisation that when walking up and down stairs, my knees crack. Maybe it was having child #3 in a foreign country and knowing all too well that if I didn’t start to change some things, I’d be very easily seduced by the power of the dark side. Or maybe it was the lingering words of my ultra-gorgeous cousin and mother-of-two Monique, who upon rocking up to my groovy Auntie’s 40th b’day party last year looking nothing less than sens-smashing-sational, announced to me: “Well, I’ve finally accepted that it’s just not gonna come easy anymore…” then proceeded to confess she was now a 6-days-a-week-at-the-gym kinda gal.
Whatever it was, the bottom line is that I’m finally, finally, FINALLY actually motivated enough to put some effort into looking after myself. Yep, yep, I know. Shocking.
I’m not talking collagen injections, full body abrasions or stomach surgery. Heaven forbid. I’ll save all that for when I’m rich, washed up and/or needing the publicity.
But I’ve started making some changes. Small changes, admittedly, but changes nonetheless. You know, just stuff like moisturising absolutely uncompromisingly (ooh I do hope somebody googles that phrase to find this blog, just so I can track them down and be like all: “hey, what gives?!”) at LEAST twice a day, brushing my hair more than once a month and trying to get out for a 30 minute brisk walk every day (whoever said “a dog is the best exercise machine you’ll ever get” wasn’t kidding, except I don’t know about the ‘best’ – I mean, I’ve seen those ads for those machines that just basically massage the living daylights out of your flab for twenty minutes and you just stand there and reap the benefits, that sounds pretty sweet. I mean I love my dog but will she knead the knots in my ever-aching back? Sigh.)
And in a fit of insanity, I’ve been seriously flirting with the idea of doing a mini triathlon on July 4th. Seriously. Insane. I’m so out of shape I don’t think there even IS a shape to describe me. But tonight I mentioned the idea to Mister Boob and he was not only supportive but was keen to join me in this mad adventure.
More on that later.
Excuse me. I’ve got a cucumber mask to rinse off.