Against my better judgement, I decided to book a Les Mills body pump class at my gym (which I haven’t been to since last October). Suffice it to say that my soreness and general tiredness in the aftermath of the 45 minute class suggest my fitness is nothing to write home about (or more accurately is non existent). A wake up call if ever there was one.. Sigh #WakingUp ...
It is a cold, crisp morning; the sort that draws an involuntary wince when the twin comforts of a snuggie, and the remnants of warm tea are withdrawn somewhat suddenly. Having not visited the gym in two weeks and a few days - blame my trip to the middle of nowhere, not my laziness - the plan is to drag myself there at some stage over the course of the day. The dry, sunny vista that greets my eyes looking out onto Pittodrie beguiles me into kitting myself out in my gym get-up; which is how at the ungodly hour of 9am on a Saturday I am high tailing the 700 yards or so from my house to the gym. The forty-five minute amble on the treadmill passes by uneventfully enough - today there are neither svelte, graceful does nor brawny, over-fit ones to terrorise me, or show me up for the lazy bum I am.. ...