I’ve mentioned before how much I love going to my happy place - the gym, for some alone time and the chance to score cheap childcare. The days at home seem to pass so much more quickly with a brief respite from the limpet needing a ‘high huggle’. And, amazingly, after an hour away, they turn cuter! Magic. I really should tell them to stop photoshopping my kids while I’m gone.
As usual, we had five minutes left to make it from our place onto the yoga mat, and amazingly the planets and green lights and children aligned. I made it. There was some chi ball dancing, some butt torture (‘Ryan Gosling is seeing you naked for the first time’ I started saying in my head for motivation, but it was more like ‘fuck fuck fuck I’m going to die’ by the end), and some lying down. I liked the lying down most.
1) The uncanny resemblance my neighbour’s chi ball bore to a mango. At one point I very nearly crawled over and sunk my teeth in. Thank God I have subhuman restraint.
2) The spectacular and very loud fart that NOBODY heard. Poor woman – I wanted to laugh it off with her but I suspect she hoped/imagined/dreamt it was unheard. Sometimes etiquette is stupid. And, to my eternal credit, I didn’t laugh. Like a teenaged boy, in a quiet space, I find farting hilarious.
3) My ineptitude with a theraband. These are the stretchy things that physios give you in rehab. I’d pulled it behind my foot in an ‘all-fours’ position, then tipped right off to the left, until SPLAT – I’d rolled over like a dog for a belly scratch. Being at the very back of the room, the gorgeous lady in front kindly drew it to everyone’s attention with ‘MAN DOWN!’
In a nutshell – my kids get cuter, I get to swear unimpeded, work on being Ryan Gosling’s girlfriend (cos we all know THAT’S going to happen), make childish fart jokes inside my head and roll around like a sleepy itchy dog. Is exercise supposed to be this fun?