Since last year I have been going to the gym. A good friend of mine and I would disappear after the babies were asleep, hop on the treadmill or bike, flick the TV to MasterChef and have a good chat while we rolled along. In all honesty we would have been lucky if we worked off the calories in a fun size Milky Way, but that's not why we were going.
That friend and I now walk out in the real world, and while I think we work harder than ever, it left an opening for a gym buddy.
So I was thrilled when another good friend stepped up, but also a little afraid because I knew he would actually make me work hard. Like sweaty hard. I hate to sweat and try to avoid all activities which produce it, which is why I enjoyed my gym based chatting workouts because there was very little sweat involved. I had a teeny tiny towel I took with me but it was merely for show (No Towel, No Workout), and more likely to be used to wipe up water which I would dribble down my chin because I cannot seem to drink out of a water bottle with any degree of decorum.
It didn't take me long to realise that my teeny tiny hand towel wasn't going to cut it for a gym session with a real gym junkie. I needed a big towel to wipe up big amounts of sweat.
So today I was doing interval training on the bikes, with my friend pushing me harder and harder. I spread my new big towel out across the handle bars, just like I have seen all the real gym junkies do, and I was feeling pretty good about myself.
'So,' I said between gasps. 'I look like a real gym junkie, don't I?'
I gestured at the towel proudly and then pointed at his, also laid across the handle bars.
'I think I really belong here now,' I huffed.
He just smiled at me and lifted up the corner of my plush white towel.
'Maybe,' he said. 'If you didn't have little elephants saying 'I love my Mummy' embroidered on the towel'.