Fighting fit?

A little under two years ago, I stepped on the scales, and the number underneath me started with a 14. I didn't stop to read the rest, but jumped off fairly quickly, and stopped for a think. 

Two years to go until the big four-oh, and I did not want to enter my forties getting ever larger. 

I joined a gym that same week, a nice, friendly, small and unfashionable gym, ladies only and full of gentle encouragement from staff and fellow members, many of whom made me look like a spry young thing. 

And I ate healthily (well sort of), and I found I had far far more energy, and things started feeling pretty good. And I lost two and a half stone (35lbs for my American friends), and I was starting to notice a difference. 

And then tLP had surgery, and then the very week she went back to school, Mog got sick. And eight months on, she's still not well, and I've rarely left the house, and I turned forty fatter and less fit than I had been the year before. 

This week, I went back to the gym. And it has changed, and it is scary. But the people are still friendly, and the personal trainer who went on maternity leave as I left is now back with a bonny eight month baby. And I will have a new review, and we will set targets again, and maybe at some point in the next few years, I will shed this extra weight - shockingly, I am overweight by the weight of my not-small eleven year old girl. 

Imagine how much more easily I could carry her if I were only carrying one of her?