It's been a running joke (pardon the pun) for the last two weeks (usually when i'm sitting happily with a slice of pizza and a glass of wine), when my training is going to start. I usually smile, laugh and say soon (trying to look serious). But it's always followed by the thought...when is my training going to start?
With that in mind I decided to get my cardio up to semi normal levels by attending a weekly aerobics class a mere 10 minute walk from my house, so no excuses.
It's funny how our perception of ourselves never map on to reality. In my head i'm wonderfully co-ordinated, positively graceful. Gliding through the world with the greatest of ease, salsa-ing my way through life doing a constant two step.
It's times like aerobics class when that illusion falls apart.
I arrived and the peppy, lovely perma tanned lady greeted me and handed me a form to fill out. After she was fully reassured that I wouldn't drop dead in her class, I stood amongst the usual characters, clasping what looked like a giant deflated balloon, bopping to the obligatory blasting house music, ready to get fit.
Five minutes in I caught a glimpse of myself in the window and realised how utterly and comically ridiculous I looked, flailing around in a crazy fashion, with not even my arms co-ordinated with the rest of the group. I began to get the giggles, feeling like Louis Theroux investigates the aerobics class or feeling like this may be great material for a short story. My giggles were compounded by the most remarkably fit old lady in front of me who was using her stretchy giant balloon as a ninja belt as she effortlessly sashayed backwards as I spun the wrong way and collided into strangers.
As the music continued from one bad dance track to another, hundreds of squats down and my heart rate up I began to feel a little euphoric. By the time 'We are young' came on and we were doing horrendous sit ups I started to feel positively giddy.
So as I happily bounced home, I thought three things: isn't exercise fun, i'm so uncoordinated and boy do I want quiche.
So that's what I had, but that's ok. The peppy lady with the freaky abs would say I deserved it.
With that in mind I decided to get my cardio up to semi normal levels by attending a weekly aerobics class a mere 10 minute walk from my house, so no excuses.
It's funny how our perception of ourselves never map on to reality. In my head i'm wonderfully co-ordinated, positively graceful. Gliding through the world with the greatest of ease, salsa-ing my way through life doing a constant two step.
It's times like aerobics class when that illusion falls apart.
I arrived and the peppy, lovely perma tanned lady greeted me and handed me a form to fill out. After she was fully reassured that I wouldn't drop dead in her class, I stood amongst the usual characters, clasping what looked like a giant deflated balloon, bopping to the obligatory blasting house music, ready to get fit.
Five minutes in I caught a glimpse of myself in the window and realised how utterly and comically ridiculous I looked, flailing around in a crazy fashion, with not even my arms co-ordinated with the rest of the group. I began to get the giggles, feeling like Louis Theroux investigates the aerobics class or feeling like this may be great material for a short story. My giggles were compounded by the most remarkably fit old lady in front of me who was using her stretchy giant balloon as a ninja belt as she effortlessly sashayed backwards as I spun the wrong way and collided into strangers.
As the music continued from one bad dance track to another, hundreds of squats down and my heart rate up I began to feel a little euphoric. By the time 'We are young' came on and we were doing horrendous sit ups I started to feel positively giddy.
So as I happily bounced home, I thought three things: isn't exercise fun, i'm so uncoordinated and boy do I want quiche.
So that's what I had, but that's ok. The peppy lady with the freaky abs would say I deserved it.
