So I appear to have inadvertently discovered the most effective type of fuel yet to galvanise this fat old body into action…the trick seems to be getting really really mad. I mean, like really mad. Having a complete hissy fit and wanting to put someone’s lights out kind of mad.
It all started this morning when I woke up with a sore knee. There’s nothing particularly unusual about that, my knee has been dodgy ever since I dislocated it in the process of shuffling my 300lb body sideways to get into the window seat on a flight a couple of years ago. Yes, that did hurt, a lot. And it put a crimp in the last few days of what had been a memorable trip around the States with my boy. New York is less fun than it might otherwise be when you’re struggling to walk with your knee in a brace.
Anyway I’m fairly used to the constant toothache in my knee, although to be fair it’s actually getting a little easier now I’m on my way down the scale. What really pushed my buttons this morning was the way that before I’d even had the chance to formulate the thought ouch, and stretch it a bit the Asshole voice was all over it.
Ooohh that doesn’t feel good. It’s all this exercise, obviously bad for you and you should stop, immediately, before your leg is damaged beyond repair. Have a day off today, don’t go near that cross trainer because it’s clearly doing more harm than good. Stay in your armchair,and show yourself a bit of TLC. Tell you what, why don’t you try and limp to the supermarket and get some cheese balls, it’ll be like old times…
At the same time he was chewing my ear I was reading an email from the company who I bought my new bag from just before Christmas, who were responding to my enquiry as to when I might expect to receive it. Given that it passed quality control over a week ago but hasn’t been despatched yet, their sentence inviting me to be patient got right up my nose. The straw that broke the camel’s back..? When I closed my laptop and reached over to the bedside table to pick up my glass of water and instead managed to knock it off and into my slippers. Looking back, it’s funny, but seriously, in that moment I completely lost the plot.
I half stomped and half hobbled across the bedroom and got on that hurt machine, chuntering under my breath the whole time. I didn’t even swing past the bathroom for a quick wee first, and excuse my indelicacy but it seems that a full bladder and a bad attitude is the way to go.
I was so busy telling the Asshole voice where to shove his cheese balls, and how despite his best efforts to sabotage my resolve I had no intention of spending the rest of my days traversing life from the comfort of a fat-friendly mobility scooter, I didn’t even notice the minutes mounting up. My eyes were out on stalks when I realised I’d done nine minutes, and I immediately thought fuck it, if I can do nine I can do TEN, stick THAT in your pipe and smoke it, Asshole.
So I did. No quitters here, right?
