Kettlehell

Boom.
Boom.

It’s not been hell at all actually. I mean don’t get me wrong, when I set myself the challenge two weeks ago to do a kettlebell workout every day for thirty days I thought I’d been possessed and needed to go and lie quietly in a darkened room. Looking back it was a natural progression from doing lunges and squats at the photocopier and taking the stairs two at a time but as I picked up the kettlebell for the first time I felt like I had gone completely loopy.

Last night I left it late to do my workout, having spent the evening sorting out some 1,400 Kindle books into a semblance of order, and to be honest by the time I switched off my laptop and peeled myself off the sofa the last thing I wanted to do was swing a heavy weight around whilst grunting like a warthog but I made myself do it. My motivation was not to break my winning streak so I could check in to the Lift app but also to feel the rush of endorphins as I finished working out and was left panting and with my heart thudding out of my chest. In an attempt to mix it up a bit I sprang out of bed this morning (dragged my sleepy head off the pillow and blearily rubbed my eyes) and grabbed the bell by the horns before skipping up the stairs full of the joys and collapsing into the hottest shower known to man.

I know it’s only been two weeks and I’m hardly Jodie Marsh (now she’s a bodybuilder type, not when she was wearing those belts across her funbags, although I’m not that either!) but I can already see and feel some changes in my body. I’ve become a bit obsessed with my arse and if you’re one of my colleagues you’ll probably see me giving it a cheeky squeeze from time to time. It’s because all of a sudden, it’s starting to take on a bit of shape as opposed to being big and wobbly and lumpy and because frankly now I’ve started putting it through its paces* I’m impressed by how much it can stand without making me weep and beg for mercy. And, AND stone me if I don’t actually have two teeny tiny Mr Muscle esque BICEPS.

I’ll say it myself but I’m impressed with me.

*That sounds filthy, it isn’t. 

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