a danger to myself

Poor roxblurb has been a bit neglected since the launch of 'small change' and I thought it was time I returned to blog about something trivial. In the spirit of being able to laugh at one's self (post-trauma), I have two incidents of bodily harm to relate which occurred last week.

A new gym recently opened in our area and, always a sucker for a bargain, I simply couldn't pass up the opportunity of a dirt-cheap gym contract. Patting off six months worth of dust from my workout attire, I arrived at the gym with a keenness that can only be mustered in one who has not done any exercise for a significant period of time. My plan was to gently phase myself back into my fitness regime with a leisurely jog on the treadmill and perhaps a short cycle, while I read Henry Fielding's Joseph Andrews. While innocently filling my water bottle at the cooler, one of the instructors invited me to a 'warm-up' kettle bells class which he was running in the next five minutes. In my enthusiasm I agreed, with little prior knowledge of what such a class might entail. Within minutes I was handed an eight kilogram weight and had orders barked at me to lunge, lift and crunch with only ten second breaks in-between. Half an hour later I was sprawled out on an exercise mat, unable to muster enough strength to lift myself off the floor. For the next two days I was not just aching, I was mostly incapacitated. At one point, Fox had to carry me up the stairs because it was simply too painful for me to climb them myself. I have not been back to the gym since then and am currently undergoing a course of self-motivation just to put on my gym shorts.

If that wasn't enough physicality for one week, I decided that the Bank holiday weekend was the best time for us to redo our kitchen and bathroom floors. Ten hours later, after ripping up three layers of flooring in the kitchen alone, I began to wonder which side of the family I should credit with my unsound mind. Yesterday, I begrudgingly started on the bathroom while Fox, very willingly, opted to do the necessary trips to the hardware store. At one point, perhaps due to fatigue, maybe carelessness, there was an incident with the stanley knife, my thumb and a vinyl tile which resulted in me passing out. Fox arrived home to find me leaning against the kitchen cupboard, pale as a ghost, with blood smeared across my face. Not pretty. I have a ridiculous phobia relating to blood on the fingers which has contributed to many similar incidents. I have been unable to look at the wound and Fox's insistence that I need to disinfect it is responded to in a manner reminiscent of a five-year-old having a splinter removed.

You will appreciate then that today I have decided that I am a hazard to myself and the safest place for me is at my computer, blogging. I would make myself a cup of tea but the risks involved are just too high. My bottle of water will do just fine for now.