Let me confess to you some of the things that happen at my gym lately.
- I can tell I am becoming less bulgy and more athletic-looking because I am starting to show up on the radar of the men at the gym. You can see them looking. Bear in mind, if you wanted to be subjected to unrealistically hard-to-achieve standards of female beauty and fitness, there is simply no better place in Britain that you could go than an upmarket London gym. So it is worth something to me if I’m showing up on the beauty radar in that environment because nobody at my gym is out of shape and I am one of very few women that doesn’t have hair extensions and a spray tan (how much do you want to bet these things are in my future). Yesterday a guy my age was checking me out in reception and today the young guy who sold me my chicken soup in the restaurant was blatantly flirting with me.
- My plan today was to do weights at the gym and then some cardio on the treadmill. I did the weights (1 Health point) but then I got off the treadmill after precisely 1 minute and 40 seconds because I wanted to talk to my boyfriend, I mean Abdul.
- The last couple of days, I’ve committed further crimes against feminism by arriving at the gym in my shades and then going directly to the women’s locker room to apply concealer, eye liner, mascara and lip gloss before going to the weights room or doing anything else. I know, seriously. I’ve become one of those women that puts on make-up just to work out.
- Even though I am terrible at swimming, I swim now. In eyeliner and mascara. Sometimes in a bikini.
My first swimming lesson is lined up for Thursday. This Thursday. That’ll put a stop to me wearing mascara in the pool. It’s going to be goggles all the way, isn’t it. Sexy.
Let’s have some more Slick Rick. There’s nothing I want right now that Slick Rick doesn’t have.
Slick Rick: Trapped In Me (1999)
Work is insane. I am just trying to get through it.
10 mile march today, no weights yet (1 Health point).
On the romance front, I may have achieved one of my own personal states of nirvana. If you remember, one of the main things I really found compatible about the Head Honcho was his constant attention to me combined with never actually physically being there, which left me plenty of free time to pursue my life. So autumn 2013 finds us in an interesting situation. Between Abdul, my brother, my mentor, and young Hussein, my heart is wholly and entirely in the Middle East. Nice and far away, just where I like it. Leaving me free to live a life in London of work and of admirable health and celibacy where I am at the gym in the way that some people show up to church.
Slick Rick: King Piece In The Chess Game (1999).
I did not get to go out to the gym today. I am at my desk making sure I meet my deadlines.
Hussein is OK. I am cheating on him tonight with Slick Rick. They don’t call him Slick for nothing.
Slick Rick ft Outkast: Street Talkin’ (1999)
I am shamelessly consulting Abdul about what to do about him. Abdul is older than Hussein and has been around the block a few times. I love it when certain boyfriends achieve a kind of mentor status.
Sorry about this, everyone. In a completely predictable way, just because I have upgraded my gym membership, work has gone crazy, which is in fact why I am writing this post at midnight on a Saturday. I have a stupid amount of work that I have to get done by the end of Monday so I am just chained to my desk. I am for some reason eating a diet of jelly and ice cream and I can feel myself expanding. I am terrified to go near the scales. I just want to get this piece of work finished so I can get back in the gym where I belong.
So tired. Going to bed now. Tonight is the first night that Jordanian boy, who we shall henceforth call Hussein, has not Skyped me since I returned to London. Lest one might think he is losing interest, I happen to know he is a guest at his grandmother’s house tonight, because I know every detail of his life now, what with the evening skyping and the text messages that I receive during the day, informing me of all his activities. God love him. I wish I were younger, I would marry him and give him babies. He will make someone a lovely husband.
At work I just take time, and all through my coffee break time, I say a little prayer for you.
Aretha Franklin: I Say A Little Prayer
Folks, I think I have to admit it, Summer of Love 2013 has come to a close. It’s been going since May, around the time that I broke up with Marcel and the weather now is definitely autumnal. Let’s review what’s happened since May and all over the summer:
- Broke up with Marcel, who in himself was a band-aid over the massive battle wounds inflicted by the Head Honcho.
- Went on dates with about 10 people and met Pedro. Dated Pedro for a while.
- Went to Egypt and fell in love with Abdul.
- Returned to London. Dated Pedro a bit more.
- The TLYW season known as Fitness, Motherfuckers kicked off in July and I started spending all my time and money on exercise, with gradual results.
- Broke up with Pedro. Met Socrates. Endured Honcho-related setbacks.
- Went to Jordan and fell in love again.
- Returned to London, reconnected with Socrates, went on 2 more dates this week which don’t merit writing about, and suspended my online dating account.
Final scores at end of play 19-09-2013. Holiday romances: 2. Friends with Benefits in London: 1 (thank you, Socrates). Falling in love with someone who lives in London and is available for a relationship: 0.
I’m going to call that good enough. It is not 100% what I was aiming for, but it is good enough. Socrates is amiable, gorgeous and locally based. My favourite Jordanian is passionate, romantic and far enough away that I don’t have to worry about it turning into anything serious. I am calling that a good result.
Thanks for playing along, everyone! I have now cleared my diary of social engagements and I am going to start treating the gym like it is my new boyfriend. And that ought to mean that I am in good shape for the online dating Xmas season, which as we all know is the most magical time of year in the whole online dating calendar and is the true meaning of Christmas.
He was sweet, just turned eighteen. She was good, you know what I mean.
Grease: Summer Nights