Month Fourteen

Dear Husband,
This was a month for affirmative action. At least in terms of our health. I have no idea whether we will stick to it or whether in the long run it will really be worth it but I finally bit the bullet and joined a gym. And then I roped you into it as well.
Like most married couples I guess, we slimmed down before the wedding (I by walking and you by sheer angst I think – forget dieting, you worried yourself thin!) and then afterwards we relaxed and just, as that delightful phrase puts it, “let ourselves go”. Its not like we were actually on a diet before but after all the crap that hit the proverbial fan after we were wed, our diet was progressively being made up of far more comfort foods than those offering actual nutritional value and neither of us were looking quite as trim as we had previously. That’s quite a diplomatic way of putting it isn’t it? Sounds a whole lot better than the love handles and thunder thighs seemed to be multiplying exponentially. Which they probably weren’t. Exponentially that is. That might be a bit of an exaggeration but still, it had been bugging me for a while that we were not what you could consider healthy and that was affecting other parts of our lives.
Both of us tend to lose motivation and self confidence when we are not on top of things. Your sleep patterns get more disrupted, I get more moody so then everyone’s unhappy and everything just gets worse. It was seriously a little scary when you ended up in hospital and you’d think that might have been a catalyst at the time for us to try and get into shape, especially as it was something that the doctors recommended for you but no. We went on as we had done before, ignoring what would actually have taken effort at the time. More and more though, we are around friends who are starting families and rather than making me super clucky as it seems to have done for you, I have been struck by the conviction that I do not want you to be the sort of dad who gets puffed out chasing a 2 year old. Nor do I want to get myself to the point where people start to wonder if I’m joining the baby bandwagon because I now have a bit of a belly. I don’t think I have any excuse at the moment for being lazy and not healthier than I am so I decided that enough was enough and I was joining the gym (and hoping that the ridiculous membership expense would actually make me use it).
I am also hoping that if I can actually maintain some sort of attendance level at the gym then you will at least feel a little guilted into going along as well. Maybe that’s a little unfair though because I didn’t make you join and you do actually want to get fit. On the other hand however, I think we both know that at least in the beginning stages, left to your own devices you will not motivate yourself to work out at all. You don’t like to be the one not contributing or doing their bit overall but you are rarely the person who starts the ball rolling. I sometimes find this hard because frequently I could use a little help to nudge me over the line. On my own, I would probably work out regularly either by going for a walk or doing a dvd at home but as soon as you come home and sit on the couch with the macbook on your lap, its all over grover. There is no way I’m motivated enough to put routine off and get you out of the way so I can jiggle with a little dignity in my own living room where I feel rather stupid jumping about.
Anyway, joined the gym we did and gone to punish ourselves we have. You even have gone as far as taking supplements both beforehand and afterwards which is impressive. Sure, there was a little hiccup at the beginning where we discovered the hard way that workout boosters with stupid amounts of caffeine are not the way to go for you at all. You get all together too excited shall we say and when your caffeine ingestion affects my sleep, I am not a happy camper. But you have since found something more natural which seems to suit the purpose and it hasn’t turned you into an obnoxious gym junkie with Invisible Lat Syndrome so I’m happy. Hopefully that’s the way we will both now stay. You know, in a perfect world and all.
Somewhat athletically yours,
Your Loving Wife
* Photo taken for a photo competition that I realy did mean to enter.

Month Thirteen

Dear Husband,
What can I say about this month? I’m sure there were a number of things that happened or that I might consider noteworthy a number of years from now but right this instant, for the life of me, I cannot remember them. We spend our weeks at work and our weekends trying to come up with things to do that will fill them and then the process just repeats itself. We pass our spare time by shopping for antiques we’ll never afford, wandering around markets, occasionally watching the idiot box and generally trying not to spend more than we earn. Which doesn’t always work.
We had the good fortune recently to be invited to a new season gentlemen’s fashion launch that was the brainchild of one of our friends. You had been roped in to being a roving model beforehand so you were going to responsible for wandering around, looking pretty handsome and showing off the outfit that was selected for you. Which you did admirably, except for those few minutes when you appeared to hide during the speeches. All the models were there but one…Anyway, we knew there would be a lot of food and drink going around, especially as our friend had partnered with Makers Mark bourbon so we were both looking forward to the night. It was a great way to break up the working week and an excuse for me to frock up in a little black dress and big black high heels. Not that you should ever need an excuse for that…
I got there about 6ish and happily picked myself up a cocktail but I think you had gotten a head start on the night as you were also helping to prepare in the late afternoon. Which was fine for the most part as you’re not exactly bad at holding your liquor but somehow though, particularly when you get around a few of these guys, you do not necessarily shall we say “pace” yourself to the best of your ability. You schmooze, you laugh, you drink, you have vehement conversations about the craptastic fashions of the pantless poptart Lady Gaga and the suitability of the white suit for one whose main occupation is not that of pimp and then in the space of about five minutes, the mood swings from go to whoa and you want to leave. Now. Or five minutes ago really when everything was still great but you’ll settle for as fast as politely possible with the emphasis on now.
So we made our goodbyes and since you were apparently a little beyond getting changed at that point, I faithfully promised that I was sober enough to ensure the clothes that we were absconding with would be cared for (and returned) once they got out the door and then we left. I was all for catching the train home because I already had a ticket and a single for you would be just a couple of bucks but you nixed that as soon as we were on the street and we had to catch a cab. Fortunately you were fine to walk into the unit under your own steam but I knew I would only have about a 30 second window to get the clothes off you before you passed out on the closest soft surface you could find. Which you did and fortunately it was the bed. Then the next day, you called in sick. I went to work with a hangover but you called in sick, which as a temp, meant no pay. You did think you might have a touch of food poisoning as you couldn’t keep anything in your stomach, so I guess work wasn’t really an option at that point, but it still turned into an expensive night!
With some of the rest of the month however, I managed to balance the distribution of pain out perhaps and suffered from my own ailment. I ended up getting the mother of all carpet burns on one of my knees. Not that I’ve have much experience with carpet burn before or been around those who have but I assume this one was pretty bad cause it still has not healed and it hurt like a bastard initially. And by initially I mean the first couple of weeks. I was limping around everywhere feeling sorry for myself and aggravating your eardrums every time you accidentally bumped my knee in bed or when I tried to manoeuvre myself into the car but couldn’t quite keep my leg straight enough. There were several occasions where I accidentally made myself bleed and would utter one of the most unladylike sounds in my repertoire. You were quite unsympathetic about that but I guess it might have seemed a bit precious. It hurt though. And to add insult to injury, I wasn’t doing anything exciting when I got the carpet burn! It was totally self-inflicted because I wasn’t paying enough attention. I tripped over my own damned pyjama pants. Although, just so as you know, I am blaming a small part of my predicament on you because the only reason I got out of bed and was able to trip over is because you wanted to show me something on the completely portable laptop.
Painfully Yours,
Your Loving Wife
* Photo taken at our friend’s season launch.