I've not been long back from my latest exercise venture. Once a week, I am taken for a brisk walk round Clapham Common by a very nice lady who is most encouraging. Round and round we go, past au pairs, yummy mummys, small children, elderly people, cyclists, dubious characters lurking in bushes, a Chinese circus, and a snack van, billowing bacon fumes.
On each circuit, I relive my youth, as I grew up in the area. There's the pond we would chuck all the hockey balls so we could go home early, there's the side road I shot out of one dark night in my mum's Fiat 127 and was chased by the irate white van driver who I cut up, there's the pub where we used to congregate.
We do resistence exercises, stretching, and other stuff.
Today was session 6.
And then I go home, in the car. Maybe one day I'll actually walk there!
Along with walking to yoga twice a week and an exercise session on Wandsworth Common, I drag my carcass around roads and parks. Maybe one day I'll see a difference.
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2 comments:
I'm tired just reading about it. And when it rains . . .?
I bring my cagoul to every session! Lady who runs it assures me that the show will go on regardless of the elements.
I didn't mention that most of us wear MBTs, those shoes that make you wobble if you don't stand up properly in them.
And no, they haven't helped my cellulite. Yet.
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