So some of you might remember that startling revelation a while back that my husband had forced me to sign up to a gym.

That’s not exactly the true story. I might not have been forced. Although I may have looked a wee bit grumpy at the suggestion.

But it is true that in all twenty five years of un-married life I had never so much as flirted with the idea of joining a gym. The word was only ever spat, not said, because in my vocabulary gym was a very dirty word.

Which is why the first words out of my mum’s mouth anytime since that someone has asked how her daughter’s marriage is going are:

Well, listen to this! He actually got her to to join a gym! A GYM!

Last night I went to the gym. This was the first time I have been since the Christmas holidays and those five course dinners I had at that lovely hotel and all my mums scrummy food at my Grandpas. And why had I not been in all the 15 days since I got back?

I lost my gym card.

Don’t look at me like that. I know what’s you’re thinking. But I honestly truthfully sincerely lost it. No hiding was attempted.

But then my lovely husband paid the €5 and got me a new one last week after convincing the gym staff that yes, probably if there are two people in their database with that surname, they are probably married. Because google it and the only other K-Js live on his home island. Which is over 800km away so they are probably not commuting to this gym.

Since last night was my first visit since Christmas and, as mentioned, I have never been a gym member before, last night was the first time I experienced the January rush. Lots of people waiting to sign up, four staff members on reception, all the running machines occupied (oh right, they’re called treadmills, oui?). And I actually counted five women there yesterday. Which for our gym is startling high.

Which actually I think I like. There is a woman-only gym close to us which I considered, but then I remembered how competitive women are and after that recalled how insecure I am liable to become when faced with a slim athletic woman doing sit ups on the cycling machine (what’s that one called?), and suddenly the option of being surrounded by macho weight-lifting men who either showed off or laughed at me sounded quite appealing.

The other plus side to being one of the few women is that there are always showers available and I usually have the whole fake-wood-pannelled changing room to myself, cheesy pop music and all.

Anyone else getting back in to the gym this week?

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