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I can a confession to make. The first of many.

To begin with, I haven’t been to the gym for three years. I gave it up to save money – with a mortgage to pay off I promised to jog outside – who need’s a gym?

Three years later and I’ve gone up three dress sizes.

I’m pear shaped – everything has slumped down to my butt, thighs and stomach. Thank you, NOT, gravity!

So part of my ‘take back my life’ campaign was to join a gym.

Today, was my first session with my personal trainer – Effie. Right now, I’m not feeling a whole lot of love for Effie. She is a lunge nazi: backwards lunge, front lunge, lunges with dumbells, squats, walking across the room with micro lunges then returning with extended lunges.

Walking is hell.

It hurts to sit up or sit down. To walk. To cross a leg over the other. Basically, pain slaps me anytime I move my legs.

However, my silver fox professor and my new life beckon. I want to be at a bar and people look at me. I want my professor to hit on me. I want men to notice me, to ask me out, to date.

Right now, I feel frumpy, boring, and round. I’m constantly conscious of my stomach. As I sit here now writing on my laptop, I can feel the wheel of lubber and it grosses me out. Is that weird? Do most people feel like this?

I know Louise Hay says love your own body, and I shouldn’t feel such revulsion – but it’s a reminder that I let myself go. That I haven’t cared about how my body looks in such a long time. That I haven’t made myself the priority. I’m still mad. Mad at myself, and at him.

I made meals for us, my husband and I, that were taste driven rather than healthy. I made sweet desserts, biscuits, and cakes. I baked extra for him to take to his work colleagues, and for me to nibble on as a midnight snack.

So my stomach, hips, thighs are a reminder of the past, and I want it gone.

But I don’t think I’ll be able to go back to the gym tomorrow. Three years of neglect can’t be fixed overnight, right? Or am I just using the pain as an excuse? Should I go back to the gym tomorrow?

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