January 8, 2011 - Type a letter every week

I have a typewriter. She is an Olivetti Lettera 32. Her name is Olivia.

This year I am going to use her to write a letter to somebody every week and mail it on Monday. 

"Dear Channel Ten,

I am writing to thank you for running Law and Order: SVU repeats on Thursday night. Perhaps you could play Law and Order every night, like you do with The Simpsons? There's more than enough episodes. Seriously, TV1 managed to create a whole pay-TV channel based on nothing but Law and Order repeats.

When I was in Year 9, we did an English unit on current affairs shows. At the end, we had to produce and film our own segment, using all the cliched tricks we'd picked up from watching taped episodes of Today Tonight. I conducted a fake interview with a student portraying a fictionalised disgraced AFL star. We had dolls representing his young family, and old netball trophies in the background to symbolise his premiership wins. I asked him hackneyed questions about his love of the game, and he broke down in manly sobs whilst he defended himself against the "shocking allegations" that he had engaged in lewd acts with one of those flags the linesmen use.

If I could find the tape we made, I would send it to you, since it's considerably better than anything Dave Hughes has done for The 7PM Project.

Sincerely,

Jayne."

Also my resolution to not eat chocolate has been surprisingly easy so far. I have decided to avoid another of my vices: Pepsi Max. They are running a promotion where if you drink ten bottles of Pepsi you get a t shirt. This is nice of them. I won a t shirt in one week. That is a lot of Pepsi Max.

I think I will extend this to carbonated beverages, generally. Except soda-water based cocktails. Of course.

When I went to the gym this morning I completed three whole quarters of a proper pushup before I fell smack on my face. Progress.

January 4, 2011 - Go to the gym

So this probably won't happen every day. I will be happy with six days per week. One of them has to be a spin class though. They should recommend spin class for recovering addicts. It's like an out-of-body experience where your mind goes on a magical journey to escape from the fact that every muscle in your lower body is begging for mercy but you can't leave the room because then you will never be able to make eye contact with the aggressively Scandinavian-looking instructor ever again. Endorphins, man. Wow.

On Christmas Eve last year, I got completely schooled by a Pump class instructor who was flinging a twenty-kilogram bar around with wild abandon, despite being heavily pregnant. It was one of the more shaming moments of my gym-going career as I struggled to hoist my dinky one-kilogram handweights in the air for a shoulder press. (I was TIRED, okay?) During a "Fat Burner" class (fifty-five minutes of brutal cardio, facing a MIRROR, you bastards) I noticed that the lady standing to my immediate right was exactly one-half my width. Astonishing.

Also my gym membership was expensive. I paid for a whole year to financially shame myself into going. I went for a fitness assessment where it was established that I cannot complete a single push-up, even the girly on-your-knees kind. Boo.

On a more positive note it is nice to know that even though I am a fitness noob, even on my worst days I am not such an epic failure as the person who shelves books at Borders.