Flirting with Fitness

2nd May 2019 0 By bearded ladies

I have absolutely no standards and zero loyalty. I will go with anyone, am flighty, easily bored and quickly move on to the next most attractive and exciting option. I have in the last week got all hot and sweaty with James, Oscar, Ben and Greg. No strings attached, no commitment.

Dear reader, I am not talking about fellas, I am talking about my flirtations with fitness classes at my local gym. And let me tell you, a quick skim through my gym history on my fitness app makes for pretty promiscuous reading…

happy baby, yoga, twerk,

Last night it was Buti yoga; all gyrating hips, new age twerking, some deep house and lots of floor slapping. Never again. No one wants to see my ‘happy baby’ in the mirror, not even me. The night before I dipped my toe in something called core blast. It hurt my core but was definitely not what I would call a blast. The week before it was body combat  and the week before that, legs bums and tums (or legs bums and mums as I sometimes inadvertently but more accurately describe it ) and of course good old fashioned Zumba was all the rage with me the month before that (well, I am 47…).

And ’twas ever thus. I’ve been a professional fitness flirt my entire life.

In ‘96 it was all about caving, with most weekends spent freezing my arse off in a crevice somewhere underground in the darkest and dampest parts of the Yorkshire Dales.

Fast forward to 2001 and I’d become a climbing fiend. Most days after work I was to be found petrified halfway up a rock face but only until…

2002…when I became consumed with a new hobby: running. I went from zero running experience to a competitive 10k in less than 6 months…then never ran again…

Then in 2003 I discovered something called ‘5BX’ the old Canadian Airforce workout (apparently what keeps Prince Charles looking so buff these days) designed to be undertaken in a confined space if an unfortunate servicemen ever found themselves imprisoned by the enemy. I started each day with five furious bedside rounds of press ups, star jumps, jogging on the spot, squat thrusts and planks and never have I been leaner and fitter. It required no equipment, gym subscriptions, gym shark high waist ultra Lycra leggings, nor Bluetooth headphones.

What it did require however which has seemingly and most evidently dwindled, along with my youth, was a commitment to honing the perfect bod.

Now in the ‘autumn of my years’ the only class at which my attendance is pretty consistent these days has been a Saturday morning ‘Boot Camp’. With good reason. It is, hangover permitting, out of of all of them, a bit of a breeze. It is only 30 mins long; has a hard core but friendly group of about 6 regular attenders (all of varying fitness levels and body shapes), and thankfully, Roxy the instructor, is not one for cheerful banter or superficial chit chat. With hair extensions as impressive and artfully crafted as her rock hard thighs, Roxy is always to be found in full contoured makeup,  and doesn’t take any shit. She once yelled at a group of three new young women who took to checking instagram accounts in between workouts, Midnight Cowboy style, whilst wielding a 12 kg kettlebell, ‘Hey, I’m teaching here!’ and thankfully they never braved our boot camp again.

bootcamp, fitness

And because it’s only 30 minutes long, and only once a week, let’s be honest I am unlikely to see any discernible visible results from my latest fitness crush. But that’s ok, because as well as my commitment dwindling with age, I’ve noticed something else dwindling…precisely how many shits I give about having a ‘bikini body’ this summer.

As I hit midlife, being strong, healthy and happy will just have to do instead I suppose…oh but I do fancy a bit of kick boxing on the side with Nick this Thursday night…