Much apologies for the radio silence guys. I decided to run away to Belgium for a while and innovatively promote healthy living by eating chocolate and drinking beer for three days.
But hey, as someone wise (probably Nigella Lawson) once said, everything in moderation. And while I was there, I happened to partake in some quite serious exercise by climbing this bad boy:
See that? Significant physical effort. Colin Farrell was right all along.
But despite this momentous effort, it has to be said that so far, my Race for Life training has been fairly chilled. It has mainly consisted of buying a pair of trainers (very funny, family members, get off the floor) and pretending that I am pretty much a superhero.
But APPARENTLY, this whole fighting cancer business requires me to actually move some of my limbs around. Something which I am very much not used to. In fact, the other day, I received a friendly kick in the arse from Cancer Research themselves:
They just know that my trainers are still in the box in the bottom of my wardrobe. They know that this is the first pair of trainers I have put on that doesn’t have flashing lights on the soles and velcro straps. They knooooow.
Now the whole world knows my shame. Despite having a deceptively tiny frame, on the inside, I look like this:
So, in an attempt to become a real Race for Life pro, I have signed up for a rather unusual fitness class, and have roped in my boyfriend to be my jogging buddy. Details on the hilarity inevitably caused by these activities to follow. My idea of sport has always been somewhat individual:
Wish me luck chaps, I’m gonna need it. Let’s get physical.