I really only have myself to blame. When I glibly said that nothing but a broken leg would come between me and the completion of my gym challenge, that was clearly asking for trouble.
I live on a very steep hill in Brighton. So steep, in fact, that a midwife once told me that walking up our street would provide quite a comprehensive pelvic floor workout. I don't quite know what she meant, but you get my drift. And indeed it started with a drift, as last Friday we were treated to a badass hunk of snow piled up on our doorstep.
Now, snow I like. You can jump in it and throw it about and (if you have that kind of mind) use it to make piss flowers.
But the snow soon turned to ice, and our street became one big hill of glass. I ventured out a few times, scaling the street by clinging on to the front of houses and drainpipes. But trips any further were too hazardous. So not so much a broken leg, but the threat of one, scuppered my plans. Though I did make it out to the gym last night, and was treated to the marvellous sight of a man running on the treadmill whilst simultaneously doing Jazz Hands. There's an outside chance I'll hit my target, but it seems unlikely now, so no more predictions from me.