Boys and girls, there are many things that Sydney is famous for. The Opera House, obviously. The Harbour Bridge. Bondi Beach.The climate and general lifestyle. Banana bread (yes, really - Sydneysiders are obsessed with banana bread). Tim-Tams (a pretty special chocolate biscuit which can only be found in Australia, and is - and I don't want to exaggerate here - possibly the best thing in the world).
But more than any of these, Sydney is known for being full of hotties. It is, after-all, a city which is surrounded by beaches, where men in wetsuits are a regular sight (do I perve on them? Perhaps a bit. I'm not proud), with a huge emphasis on an active lifestyle. Wherever you go there are parks with people jogging, or beaches with people surfing, or wearing wet-suits, or... Mmmm.... Where was I?
Ok, so the basic premise I'm going with here is that the Sydneysiders are attractive. They're toned, tanned, and gallop about the place like Linford Christie (prior to the ban). Now, I'm a Londoner. I'm beyond pale. I make pale look tanned. So that's strike one. Strike two is that prior to coming to Sydney, I had a pretty manic work schedule, and no time for the gym. So toned I am not, alas.
Now, I'm happy being pale - Anne Hathaway's pale, and she's hot. Miss Piggy was a frankly bizarre shade of pink, and Kermit still loved her. Most WAGs look like they've been dipped in food colouring of varying shades - but that (apparently) just adds to their status. So, where I am on the pale / dark scale isn't a problem for me, and requires no work.
Phew.
The lack of toned-ness (that's a word, right?) however, is a problem. It's 3 months until summer over here, and I need to be beach ready (well, in my mind - wetsuited-man ready; a girl can dream) - so I've joined a gym. Yes, I've done it - signed my life and my bank balance to Fitness Freaks (not the actual name, but it may as well be). I've now completed two workouts, and can say - without exaggerating - that my body hates me. My arms are so weak I can barely dress myself. As I write this, I'm leaning on the desk, half-collapsed, half-dressed, and half-exhausted.
A not unreasonable session was done (20 minutes on the x-trainer, 10 on the bike, and 500m on the rower, as well as a few lengths of the pool, just to show willing) - but, apparently, doing this just once isn't enough. I need to go back? What's with that?! Surely I've shown willing, and that's sufficient?
Gentle reader, as much as I'd like to seek answers, it's time for a lie-down. The gym bunny in me is, perhaps, a gym hedgehog, and needs to hibernate right now. If anyone knows a good masseur / physio / dresser (I may be destined to go out half-dressed until I regain my upper body strength) please do let me know.
More Sydney adventures soon... (when I can walk and move)
With love and tiredness,
Belle x
But more than any of these, Sydney is known for being full of hotties. It is, after-all, a city which is surrounded by beaches, where men in wetsuits are a regular sight (do I perve on them? Perhaps a bit. I'm not proud), with a huge emphasis on an active lifestyle. Wherever you go there are parks with people jogging, or beaches with people surfing, or wearing wet-suits, or... Mmmm.... Where was I?
Ok, so the basic premise I'm going with here is that the Sydneysiders are attractive. They're toned, tanned, and gallop about the place like Linford Christie (prior to the ban). Now, I'm a Londoner. I'm beyond pale. I make pale look tanned. So that's strike one. Strike two is that prior to coming to Sydney, I had a pretty manic work schedule, and no time for the gym. So toned I am not, alas.
Now, I'm happy being pale - Anne Hathaway's pale, and she's hot. Miss Piggy was a frankly bizarre shade of pink, and Kermit still loved her. Most WAGs look like they've been dipped in food colouring of varying shades - but that (apparently) just adds to their status. So, where I am on the pale / dark scale isn't a problem for me, and requires no work.
Phew.
The lack of toned-ness (that's a word, right?) however, is a problem. It's 3 months until summer over here, and I need to be beach ready (well, in my mind - wetsuited-man ready; a girl can dream) - so I've joined a gym. Yes, I've done it - signed my life and my bank balance to Fitness Freaks (not the actual name, but it may as well be). I've now completed two workouts, and can say - without exaggerating - that my body hates me. My arms are so weak I can barely dress myself. As I write this, I'm leaning on the desk, half-collapsed, half-dressed, and half-exhausted.
A not unreasonable session was done (20 minutes on the x-trainer, 10 on the bike, and 500m on the rower, as well as a few lengths of the pool, just to show willing) - but, apparently, doing this just once isn't enough. I need to go back? What's with that?! Surely I've shown willing, and that's sufficient?
Gentle reader, as much as I'd like to seek answers, it's time for a lie-down. The gym bunny in me is, perhaps, a gym hedgehog, and needs to hibernate right now. If anyone knows a good masseur / physio / dresser (I may be destined to go out half-dressed until I regain my upper body strength) please do let me know.
More Sydney adventures soon... (when I can walk and move)
With love and tiredness,
Belle x
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