Liar liar

When I was a teenager, my father made a very astute comment about me. He said that my biggest weakness was that I was a liar. He really nailed it. I was a deceitful mare as a teenager. Case in point: My family were going to France for a five-day break when I was 13. We were due to leave for the ferry at 5pm giving me an hour or so between getting home from my school trip and leaving the house.

Being the ungrateful cow that I was, I really didn’t want to go to France again (we went a lot because we had a cottage there) so I decided to go round to my friend’s house (on my bike) and wait there until it was too late to make the ferry. I honestly believed that my parents would go without me. And that they wouldn’t check with the school to see if the trip had got back. My cover story was that the coach was late back from the trip. The plan had more holes that a pair of fishnets. I can still remember feeling completely convince that the plan would work and I would have five days to myself to live the life of riley without my parents. Believe it or not, I was actually pretty clever. I know! Hard to believe, eh?!

It got to just before my parents were due to leave and I bottled it. I raced back over to the house only to be greeted with parents so angry they were red and blotchy. They were beside themselves with worry and when I started to tell my ill-thought-out story of the late coach, they exploded. Apparently, they had thought to call the school to enquire as to the whereabouts of the school trip party and had been informed that they had returned a little earlier than planned. They then asked my deputy head to search the bikesheds for my bike, only to be told that it was not there. Needless to say, they had me pegged as a liar. And I have not ever really been very good at telling the truth ever since. Now, let me be clear. I do not lie about important things. I lie about stupid stuff. Stuff that I am too cowardly to deal with. Stuff like Mr Motivator.

Last night, I milked an ankle injury to avoid having to go for a long-run with Mr Motivator. The injury was not that bad in the first place. And it was 2 weeks ago. And it is now completely healed. I just can’t help myself. I lie a lot to Mr Motivator. It’s like the rule of three, if I say I have been running three times, it means I have been once. Or not at all. I am trying to figure out a way of breaking up with Mr Motivator. We only have a couple of sessions left that are paid for and I don’t want to continue. Paying someone £30 an hour to tell me I need to exercise 5 times a week when he isn’t there just isn’t working for me. I know that already. For it to really work, he needs to come to me five times a week which a) I can’t afford and b) even if I could, he wouldn’t be able to accomodate… you know, having a life and all.

Anyhoo, I have decided to take the cowardly route of sending him an email saying I don’t want to continue after the next session. Non-confrontational? Check! Guilt-free? Check! No chance of being persuaded into another 12 sessions? Check!

ps if some clever person can tell me how to place a NaBloPoMo button on my sidebar I would be very grateful.