I’m fresh back from my week in Italy, where to everyone’s surprise, one of the first things I asked the hotel reception staff was whether or not there was a gym. To my surprise, I was actually glad when they said yes. For the most part.
Truth is, treadmill running is almost too dull to handle even in the normal run of things. So when I was getting up extra early during my holiday, hungover and with a big bolus of last night’s pasta loading down my stomach like a cannonball…there were some unpleasant clock-watching, teeth-grinding, moments.
But I stuck to the plan pretty faithfully. And I’m glad I did, because despite last week’s grand promises to start being more sensible with my diet, of course I couldn’t resist all that hand-made gelato. I ate like a pig, and when I got home and stepped onto the scales expecting the worse – I found out I’d lost two pounds. Maybe the ‘mill isn't so bad after all...
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