Personal training

Let's face it, I've had a bloody good time in Broome over the last couple of years. In fact I have no choice but to face it, every time I look in the mirror.

A bottle of white here, a few rums there, cold beers after work and then some hot chips to soak it all up. Cold chips too if the truth be told.

Granted, it's not the 17 kilos I gained when I lived in Karratha, and maybe, as happened in 2006 when I left Karratha the weight will miraculously fall off once I get below the 26th.

Then again maybe it won't. So just to be safe I phoned the gym.

It didn't get off to a great start.

Kate: "Hi Peter, Kate Matthews here, I need help."
Peter: "That's no problem Kate but are you going to be better than all the other times you've said that?"
Kate: "Well..yes...I hope so...I'll try..."
Peter: "When can you come in, tonight? Tomorrow?"
Kate: "Well I'm busy tonight (sunset drinks on the beach) and tomorrow could be tricky...(Pizza at 12 mile)"
Peter: "Right."

I have this sneaky suspicion that I am going to be told, if I want results I'll have to give up the booze.

But I do want results, I do. I want to fit in to all those clothes shoved in suitcases and garbage bags under the bed, in the back of the wardrobe, in the linen cupboard.

And I don't want to compare my arse to Matthew Pavlich's nose anymore.

So, personal training.

Tuesday, 4.30pm.

Cheers.