Blogging from my bed again, ladies and gents. We can see that I'm A) taking this seriously and B) decided to really work on my new year resolutions... not.
I won't lie to you, new years has never been the best time for me. I'm still eating too much after getting used to it over Christmas, and I'm still thinking it's okay. I know it's not, but tell that to the Caitlin who's consumed a 4-stick KitKat, 1 Creme Egg (they're back hooray!) and a mountain of cheese today. Go on, I dare you to take HER on.
I think I had a motivational new years once, the kind where you look at your life and want a change. I found myself waking up naturally at 7am, I'd eat a cereal bar, and then go for a walk/jog/run. Yeah, it was cold, but I didn't care. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the feeling of doing something to help myself. It was going well.
That lasted about ten days.
And that's not me being melodramatic, I really gave up. It wasn't even a bloody resolution and I gave up.
Fast forward a few years to now, and I'm not in the best shape at all. I know what I need to do, but actually doing it takes a lot more effort than my lazy ass is willing to give. I would say that it's not my fault, but just because I was brought up to reject the gym doesn't mean I can blame my parents and sisters forever. At some point I had to realise that them saying that was either a joke or a reflection of their personal exercise experiences, and even though I was made to feel like a traitor when I visited the gym once in a blue moon (yes, actually labelled a traitor), I should put away the snacks and get my act together.
I've been in bad habits for years, though. In my last year of high school we could choose to go to the gym instead of attending the P.E double. Everyone went for it, of course; it meant freedom, and to be honest, you probably got more real exercise done. I said I'd do it, and after climbing over the extremely raised eyebrows of every friend/teacher I told, I signed up to the gym. I paid for a membership.
It was my intention to go swimming during my P.E lessons, instead of 'working out'. I couldn't go into the actual gym of course, I was allergic. This is something I genuinely used to tell people (and still do, lets face it).
I went a few times, enough for my teachers to genuinely believe I was going there. They checked up on me two or three times. Then I started going less and less until, eventually, I didn't go at all. Not very good of my teachers, really - I was technically still under their pastoral care and they had no idea I wasn't where I said I was.
No, in my P.E lessons, I would walk home, make lunch, and watch Gilmore Girls. Others exercised, they got fit, and I would sit on my bed and attempt to compete with Lorelai and Rory in terms of how much junk food I could eat within a two-hour period. And I never got caught out, not by my teachers, or by Lorelai and Rory. Lucky me.
And I suppose you think this blog is my way of committing to a new, healthy lifestyle. It's really not. I just wanted to share. Sharing is caring, after all.
So what's the lesson? Well, I'm going to attempt to get healthy, and you should start watching Gilmore Girls. While you wasted your time at the gym during year 11, I got a head start and have now seen every episode. Now who's the loser, huh?
Yeah, thought so.
Happy New Year chums.
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