As I sit here, in my comfy chair with my feet up on the cat, a glass of wine in one hand, an After Eight in the other and a steaming cup of tea at my side, I muse on the difference that an hour makes and the things one does when a husband thinks it would be nice to do something together.
Like aerobics.
Of course, those of you who knew me in my younger days would know that it was not an uncommon sight to see me throwing limbs around and generally being terribly energetic to a pounding dance rhythm, however, of late, it's not quite as common. Having several of our friends witter on about the gympa classes in the local village, Graham decided that he really did need some training and we should go, together.
Bless.
I'm glad it was half term, but that did mean there weren't so many people to hide behind especially with everyone stood around in a circle with the instructress in the middle, but on the otherhand, there were no mirrors. The exercises were varied and probably had some sort of modern name. Of course, having experience made it easy for me to pick up the moves, it was just a question of coordination and timing (sadly lacking), but poor Graham had never been to an exercise class and so generally stood there flailing at random intervals with intermittent hopping. I did tell him at one point that it was possible to bend. He did have me on the running around the gym though. To quote Garfield, "show me a runner and I'll show you a strange person with a thing for pain". I did flex my knees to show willing. And now I know why Swedish men and women are so fit, not only do they walk for hours in unpathed forest, they also take their aerobics terribly, terribly seriously. One lady told me not to worry, it was OK to take things easy at the beginning. The poor, poor dear........
Anyway, we're going again next week. Mostly out of sheer bloody mindedness. Soon we'll be doing press up bunny hops on one hand!
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