I MAY have over-indulged during the past few months.
Hold tight - we’re checking permissions before loading more content
Well, maybe a bit longer than that.
Okay, probably since COVID-19 hit.
Resulting in a few extra kilos I did not want or need.
But it’s hard not to comfort eat when you’re in the middle of a pandemic.
I convince myself it’s okay to have that second bowl of ice-cream because, you know, COVID.
Or, have that cookie with your coffee because you deserve it — you’re living through coronavirus.
And what other way are you supposed to celebrate the last day of lockdown than with some cheese and champas?
And then there’s the office where I spend most of my life.
The other week, we had three cakes in five days thanks to two birthdays and one cadetship completion celebration.
I mean, I’d be rude not to accept a piece.
And what about when the 3 pm sugar craving hits?
When you have a 4.30 pm deadline, it’s just impossible to resist a little pick-me-up chocolate.
Unfortunately for me, my increased food intake creeps up slowly on me and before I know it, I am on horizontal on my bed screaming “why?!” at my skinny jeans through vigorous bouts of heaving and pulling.
Which then leads to more comfort eating. It’s a vicious cycle.
Anyhoo, it all came to a head the other week when the Riverine Herald was challenged to a fitness contest with Njernda.
I vaguely remember agreeing to it last year — thinking at the time we would have months to get in shape and come out victorious.
And then we forgot . . . until a few weeks before.
As captain, I alerted the troops and ordered them to start training ASAP as I expected nothing less than a win.
And then I forgot again.
Damn COVID.
Then, before we knew it, challenge day was upon us.
Between the six of us, we had to complete a 10 km stationary bike ride, 200 burpees, 500 jumping jacks, 200 slam balls, 300 overhead squats (with a 5 kg weight) and 40 agility ladder runs.
Split that between us and that’s a 1.6 km bike ride, 33 burpees, 83 jumping jacks, 33 slam balls, 50 overhead squats and seven agility ladder runs each.
Despite my spare COVID kilos, I was feeling confident.
Even if I wasn’t super-fit, I was sure my competitiveness and pride would get me over the line. And it did.
But I paid the price later.
I went too hard too fast, and within the first five minutes I'd nearly passed out from lack of oxygen to the brain.
My legs were pedalling so quickly on the bike, I was certain the bike would take off with me on it.
That would have been a God-send, because what I had to endure over the next hour was torture.
What made things even more intense was the fact we were competing against Njernda’s “dream team”, consisting of at least two personal trainers and four other young and super-fit guys and gals.
Not exactly fair when one third of our team was on the other side of 40 and hadn’t seen the inside of a gym since 2010.
In saying that, we were pretty even for about half the challenge before the exhaustion struck.
Burpees became laborious, jumping jacks were a joke thanks to a certain competitor’s lack of arm/leg co-ordination (not me), slam balls turned sloppy, and we became squeamish with squats.
But we didn’t stop. Not even when one of our team members pulled out with an injury.
Or when I almost passed out from lack of oxygen.
Or when I just about died laughing at Mr Jumping Jack joker himself.
We kept pushing each other to the very end — finishing a couple of minutes behind Njernda, much to my disgust.
But there was no time to feel sorry for myself or cry over spilt milk.
As a representative of the Riv, I had to set a good example so I needed to be a good sport about it.
Which was quite easy because I was too busy being unconscious on the floor.
MORE MAMA MAYHEM
Bad timing for naked roof-jumping ‘Spiderman'
My name is Ivy, not Ivy and definitely not Emu
Shock, horror. It's time to mask up and man up
###