I am fairly notorious for disliking anything that I perceive as ‘faddy’. (with the notable exception of Tamagotchis, which queued for an hour in the rain outside Toys R Us to buy when I was 12 years old. They had run out of stock. Lesson learnt.)
So when the world started bleating on about Jillian Michael’s 30 Day Shred DVD, I was sceptical and more than a little scathing. After all, I reasoned to myself, we see new exercise fads every bloody week. Last week it was all about Zumba, and wriggling around in a completely demented fashion to high paced music, this week, it’s a more sombre exercise craze, where people pay decent money to be bullied and shouted at by a fairly butch American. What next eh? (and that was my cue to give a pompous little shrug of the shoulders and roll my eyes.)
Yet amazingly, I found myself suckered into it all. I think it was the promise of only having to do 20 minutes a day that I rather liked. 20 minutes a day. I like that. I spend more time than that on the toilet I reckon. So I concluded that anything that involved such minimal effort must have its advantages.
I was also rather lured in by the glowing acolades of friends, all claiming that they’d lost literally zillions of pounds and never felt better. It was just too tempting to resist.
So, last Monday, I officially gave it a go. Here is a rough outline of how it went.
Monday:
Spend the first five minutes of the workout feeling pleasantly surprised at the fact that I’m not finding it too difficult. Spend the next fifteen minutes bitterly regretting this initial, hasty judgement, as I pant, sweat and grunt through seemingly straightforward exercises. Realise that my body is in far worse shape than I had appreciated and is complaining loudly at this sudden onslaught of workout.
Tuesday:
Can barely move.
Still plough through it again in the evening, even though my lunges, crunches and squats are so limited in movement due to pain that they are probably invisible to the naked eye.
Wednesday:
Muscles actually feel like they are made of concrete and are about as responsive. Wade my way through the shred again like a crippled duck wading through syrup and hate every moment.
Thursday:
Loathe it even more. Head to the pub straight afterwards to neck lots of booze and moan about it with BP, who is also putting herself through it, even though she weighs less than a moderate and half empty bag of potatoes.
Friday:
Start liking it. Until I get on the scales and realise it says I’m 5lb heavier than when I started. Yes,i know. Its bad, isn’t it. I try not to weep and blame it on water retention instead. (possibly fom all that alcohol) Ha! Also, OH joins in today, which instantly renders it hilarious and well worth a view. Most. Unco-ordiated. Man. Ever.
Saturday:
Start flexing my biceps without realising and realise that I’ve become slighty addicted…oh dear!

Is it worth doing? Yes. If you are a glutton for punishment. I will keep you updated if the pounds start rolling off…

As for fads, maybe I should now embrace it all and start reading 50 Shades of Grey and swooning over some fictitious old perv seducing a young girl. Yeah. Perhaps not, eh…

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