Carport Terminator.

I still have many travel stories to share, so don’t lose hope, faithful reader. They will be recorded (and to be fair, many have – they just live in a notepad on my phone). My main struggle lies with finding time to write something lengthy and coherent. I don’t wish to lead you astray, give you the idea that perhaps I have been jet setting about the world in my absence. Sorry guys, my flight just arrived, off on safari with the Colonel this week! No, it’s far less glamourous and much more mundane than that. Moving into a new flat, going back to school, living the domestic life.

I do however have a story to tell you about today. My diet and exercise plan went out the window the last time I went to America, paired with an illness lasting for months, the weight-loss odds were not stacked in my favour. Clearly the solution was to ditch the healthy lifestyle and eat as much peanut butter/chocolatey goodness as I could find. I do believe they call it a pity party. Fast forward to the present: I’ve been on the mend for a solid amount of time, which means back to the old regime. Slowly but surely, I’m growing to love it once more.

About a month ago it was pointed out that there was a pull-up bar in the carport. For about a month, I’ve been avoiding doing pull-ups.

Not today though, no, today was the day.

Outside was where I ran into problem number one: Too short to reach the bar. I looked around to see what I could use to give myself a boost: Two chairs and a tyre (population tire?). One was a fairly old office chair that appeared to have been living in the wild for quite sometime, the other was a fold-out beach chair. Neither were good climbing candidates. Unless I was looking to flying spin off one and fall through the other, I suppose. Back inside I went to retrieve a sturdy chair. Up I went and on to the pull-up bar I held. Enter problem number two: I cannot do a pull-up. I cannot even do one tiny lift. I used the chair to help me jump, so I like to think I did half of one. Still, this minor issue is actually a rather major one. Back in college we had to do lifting tests and if I remember correctly, the boys did under-hand lifts while the girls did over-hand. Maybe that was problem all along. DOING IT WRONG!

…. No. Turns out that didn’t help either.

It was there, standing atop my chair, wondering what my next move should be when I encountered my third problem: Man across the street can see me. The thing is, I don’t think he thought he was watching an unfit girl trying to exercise. From his perspective it probably looked like a crazy girl attempting to hang herself in a carport. Thus concluded the day’s exercising adventures. I grabbed my chair and hurried back inside, never looking back.

Moral of the story? Exercising is pretty cool (in theory). Would be better if I was born like Sarah Connor.

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