Along with chucking out the Christmas tree and accepting that you can't go on eating like a turkey into the New Year, going back to the gym in the New Year, is one of those moments no self respecting diva can afford to avoid.
Motivated by my sexy new gym gear (Brazilian yellow top and forest green go faster tracksuit bottoms!)and sale bargain running shoes, and the distinct beginnings of a spare tyre around my middle, I hit the gym with all all the enthusiasm of a root canal visit to the dentist.
As anyone knows January is New Years resolution month at the gym. Suddenly you have to queue for the treadmill instead of just going on it. Everyone on the cross-trainers seems to have decided they are doing double-time and if think you'll get within touching distance of a swiss ball you're dreaming !
At the end of an unintentionally hard, cross trainer session(why is it when you think you are decreasing the resistance, you only seem to increase it!) I headed to the changing room almost turned tail, when faced by changing room full of women of all shapes and sizes in varying degrees of undress.
As I picked up my bag and struggled to free my head from a hairband, I had put on so tightly it had transformed my forehead, temporarily into a Croydon facelift, I overheard two friends talking.
"Where did all this come from ?" said the first tugging at the very generous handful of flesh which seemed cemented to her stomach and thighs . "Try Christmas, New Year babe", chimed the other. Argh the joys of sisterhood !
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