So I survived yet another new-to-me class yesterday morning in the Kingdom of Pain, called Shape Attack. Walking into the building at 06h30 knowing my shape was going to be under attack for the next hour didn’t exactly make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside but I’m definitely getting used to the scary names. In terms of managing my expectations, they work really well…I can hazard my best guess at what’s coming.

I quite like going to classes I haven’t been to before…it’s possible to go through a whole hour with hope in your heart that the next exercise is going to be a bit easier than the one that’s killing you right now, whereas in the ones I’m more familiar with all hope of that dies before I even walk through the door.

Given that the God of Pain is busy sunning his buns on holiday, a lady I haven’t met before was running the session and I must admit at first look I thought I might need to be a bit scared, I mean this girl had muscles. Not in a looks like a bloke kind of way, far from it in fact. Seriously, she was just body perfect from head to toe.

There wasn’t an inch of her that wasn’t toned or sculpted. Maybe she shot out of the womb doing bicep curls or something, because she’s clearly been at this for years. At one point she reached for the mobile phone which was driving the music, and about ten muscles popped out to have a look around…way to go to make a fat fifty year old feel fat and fifty.

She was actually lovely, in between the bits where she pretty much tried to kill me, and I survived the experience having shuffled and grunted my way through her own particular brand of torture.

So you’d think, that having greeted the day by attacking my shape for a whole hour before even hitting the shower, I’d be nicely set up for an on-track day where my eating was concerned wouldn’t you? I thought that too. I was all over it, I stopped at the supermarket on my way to work and bought prawns to have with a salad at lunchtime, and lots of fruit to get me through the day from a snacking perspective.

And it was all going really well, until mid afternoon when my friend uttered the words I fancy some chocolate…and that’s all it took.

On the outside, she got a skinny-girl response. I held up a bunch of bananas and offered her one, you know encouraging her to stick to her diet and satisfy her craving with a suitable alternative. Right on cue, the Asshole voice jumped in with FUCK OFF WITH YOUR BANANAS, I WANT CHOCOLATE TOO!! And then refused to leave me alone for the rest of the afternoon.

Since no chocolate was easily accessible (except the Mars Bar sitting on the desk next-but-one to mine, which was immediately placed under surveillance by its owner) the craving almost passed. I thought I’d dodged the bullet. All until I found myself near reception, where they actually have a box of naughties which you can plunder in exchange for a donation to charity. And my chocolate-fancying friend, who was with me started having a root through the goodies. So of course, I did too. Naughty loves company, right?

And that’s how I ended up with a slab of ‘dark chocolate cherry crunchy cake’ on my desk. Which, in the end didn’t taste of dark chocolate. Or cherries come to think of it. It wasn’t even particularly crunchy if I’m being completely honest. After the first bite I suspected it. After the second bite I was pretty sure, but it was only after I’d polished off all seventeen fucking points’ worth that I knew for certain it wasn’t actually that nice.

It’s safe to say dinner was a little bit lean last night…so much for my clean eating week. Two steps forward, one step back…muppet 🙂

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