But the gym is my new part-time lover

This long-distance lifestyle I’ve put up with for six-years is one whinge I hate to indulge in; I mean it was my choice after all to move more than 3000 kilometres away from the man of my dreams for the job of my dreams.

But today the calendar marks six-weeks since I’ve seen that gorgeous specimen in the flesh & it looks like it’ll be another four before I get to again.  As a side-note, Qantas, Virgin and all you other good for nothing airlines in this country, I hope you know I’m blaming you … seriously, does anyone realise Perth is in Australia? Why is it cheaper to get to the other side of the equator?

Anyway, as anyone who’s endured long-distance would understand, it’s bloody hard and ridiculously lonely. Knowing I’ve spent most nights in my queen-sized bed alone in the past six years eats at my soul a little bit every day I don’t get to be with him.

But tonight I came to an enlightening, albeit slightly sad, realisation; I have a new part-time lover that’s helping me fill the void. Yep, that’s right, the gym has become my new boyfriend.

For where my man cannot be, the gym can.

Like, after a long, gruesome day at a work when all I want to do is come home for a good old bitch session, I instead go to the gym and punch bags (and shit, it feels good!)

When I’m happy, I run faster and longer and with a smile (I must admit, I’m punching more than I’m running).

When I’m sad, I just try to convince people around me that I have sweaty eyeballs. Really sweaty eyeballs.

And the long hot shower to finish it all off almost – and I mean almost – feels as good as it does to collapse into my man’s arms at the end of the day.

There are obvious downsides to my part-time lover; I mean it’s a lot harder, and a whole lot less satisfying, to take the gym on lazy Sunday drives down to the coast. But on the upside, we’re always on the same timezone & I’ve NEVER had to leave it a voicemail. Not once! (Seriously though baby, if I have to hear that message one more time I am actually going to lose my mind! Argh!)

And sure, a boxing bag can’t tell me how his day was – and god knows the amount of conversations I have at home alone is probably borderline unhealthy – it kind of helps fill the time between those devastatingly infrequent weekends we DO get to spend together.

And hey, all this stamina is sure to come in handy for when those weekends do come around. Right?

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