I love my gym. Honestly, I would live there given the opportunity. I can only hope that the Uni gym is as nice.
Despite not having set foot in there for two months (ocmplete lack of energy and motivation), I managed to do an hour of cardio in the gym and then swim for half an hour. And then went all wrinkly by sitting in the hot tub for too long. But, uh, the first bit was good.
I'm not a weights girl, I like my skinny arms and wrists and I'd like to keep them that way. But give me a treadmill and my iPod and I'll be happy as Larry (whoever the hell Larry is, anyway).
It's like that scene from Scrubs where Dr Cox asks Elliot how she copes, or something, and her reply is "crank the treadmill up to x degrees and just run through the tears". My kind of girl. Defo.
The day after my marathon gym session: everything hurts. I winced at every step climbing up to the office this morning.
I gave my boss the biggest evils when he asked me to walk all the way across the building and back just to pick up his coffee. Get it yourself, lazy arse.
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