After Rugbyboy left in July (a not so perfect strapping 6ft4 dark rugby player I was seeing for the past 8 months) to move to LA I found myself in Tuscany for W11's wedding with N4. It was a magical week but to make up for the emotions and being surrounded by a lot of smug couples and simply because it would have been rude not to I ate my body weight in bread, pasta, pizza and gellatto so on my return I decided to join the gym to prepare for Ibiza; what else do you do when you are newly single?
Little did I know I was signing up for emotional torture as well as physical and paying £80 a month for the pleasure! After a traumatic first session where I didn’t even make it past the changing room due to confusion over the lockers I was slowly beginning to feel comfortable despite the torrent on strapping boys and toned and completely tanned (and I mean COMPLETELY tanned) girls I went for a swim after work to distract myself from the clubbing ban I have imposed on myself this weekend. My wallet is recovering from 2 holidays in July and preparing for the 2 up and coming holidays over the next few weeks, and besides whilst everyone is away in August the dregs of London seem to take over even the coolest of clubs so hopefully I won’t be missing all that much. After having bumped into two friends on the way to the gym I was thinking to myself what a small place London can be when I bumped (literally) into Rugbyboy's dashing friends in the gym reception (to set the scene I was not looking my best to say the least, hair scraped back, jeans and flats; have been making the most of senior management being out the office in August and not having to rock the sky highs and cinched waists). I don’t know if it was because of my appearance or because I have been thinking about Rugbyboy lately but I was about as smooth as Muriel from Muriel’s wedding! My finest comment was asking them what they were doing here…er tying working out SW6 – what a plonker! Anyway after humiliating myself I didn’t think it could get any worse (little did I know someone upstairs seems to have a sense of humour) I bumped into an old crush (FYI he lives in Sloane Square and as far I was aware was a member of the Virgin gym in Kensington, what the hell was hell was he doing in the Fulham Broadway gym?). Instead of covering myself in my towel I decided to grab a float to cover my dignity – why oh why? After having a good laugh at me with my dishevelled hair and mascara round my chin he snapped a picture on his bb and emailed it round our mutual friends; at least I was wearing cute Heidi Klein one piece, although it doesn’t make up for float! Gym so far not doing wonders for my life as planned!
Little did I know I was signing up for emotional torture as well as physical and paying £80 a month for the pleasure! After a traumatic first session where I didn’t even make it past the changing room due to confusion over the lockers I was slowly beginning to feel comfortable despite the torrent on strapping boys and toned and completely tanned (and I mean COMPLETELY tanned) girls I went for a swim after work to distract myself from the clubbing ban I have imposed on myself this weekend. My wallet is recovering from 2 holidays in July and preparing for the 2 up and coming holidays over the next few weeks, and besides whilst everyone is away in August the dregs of London seem to take over even the coolest of clubs so hopefully I won’t be missing all that much. After having bumped into two friends on the way to the gym I was thinking to myself what a small place London can be when I bumped (literally) into Rugbyboy's dashing friends in the gym reception (to set the scene I was not looking my best to say the least, hair scraped back, jeans and flats; have been making the most of senior management being out the office in August and not having to rock the sky highs and cinched waists). I don’t know if it was because of my appearance or because I have been thinking about Rugbyboy lately but I was about as smooth as Muriel from Muriel’s wedding! My finest comment was asking them what they were doing here…er tying working out SW6 – what a plonker! Anyway after humiliating myself I didn’t think it could get any worse (little did I know someone upstairs seems to have a sense of humour) I bumped into an old crush (FYI he lives in Sloane Square and as far I was aware was a member of the Virgin gym in Kensington, what the hell was hell was he doing in the Fulham Broadway gym?). Instead of covering myself in my towel I decided to grab a float to cover my dignity – why oh why? After having a good laugh at me with my dishevelled hair and mascara round my chin he snapped a picture on his bb and emailed it round our mutual friends; at least I was wearing cute Heidi Klein one piece, although it doesn’t make up for float! Gym so far not doing wonders for my life as planned!
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