I defy science by burning more calories than I’ve had hot dinners and STILL fail to lose weight…
Left, right, left, right, left, right left, right…
The warm-up was a bit of a shock to the system: all that breathing in and out and arms going this way and that and legs going up and down and up and down again.
I had a sudden panic that I was going to immediately dehydrate which soon gave way to certain knowledge that my thigh muscles were going to take more than a few days to recover from the “squats”.
At the same time as the building anxiety about the impending hour’s exercise that was only two minutes down, there was a sense that there was nowhere else I’d rather be – fresh air, grass, mud and rain all choreographed to relieve the heat being generated by the wee furnace that was me.
It was sad to think that it has been at least twenty years, if not thirty, since the last time I came into contact with grass in any other context that “sunbathing” (which is an ironic activity undertaken in Scotland in the months of June and July where you wear skimpy clothes under a huge fleece or waterproof, and lie on the ground on a tartan rug and wait until you are forced to acknowledge that it really isn’t warm and it would be better to go inside and have your cup of tea, rather than have it go luke-warm within seconds outside).
Not for years have I peen pushed to the limit in so many ways in such a short time. Press ups? In four training sessions I have gone from being able to do a cheaty-cross-kneed approximation of a press up to, well, something that looks ALmost like a press up. I can’t go exactly ALL the way down without collapsing, but nearly! The worst thing is “bear crawls” where you crawl on all fours, not not with knees, and after a few ‘paces’ feel like vomitting. Apparently that’s when you know you are doing it correctly.
There’s nothing as welcome as water, from the sky or in a bottle.
Then there is working those abs. My quest to have abs like Ennis may ultimately require surgical intervention, but I am trying the less invasive method first. Crunches, twists and lactic acid pooling behind my belly button. I am sure I have a decent six pack really. Sadly it is hidden behind a tummy that looks precisely like an uncooked steak pie or a batch of half made pizza dough.
So, I can crawl like a commando, dive like a footballer, run like a… quite a slow runner.
I am enjoying the unpredicability of the environment which is a whole other factor in the training. Much more fun than a sterile class. Although, maybe I’ll feel differently if I ever land in the dog poo I have skilfully dodged so far.
Also, when I get home, my dragged-through-a-hedge look allows my son to use his “Gracias” joke to good effect.
One of these days, I will go on the scales and will have lost weight. Surely. (Ah yes, I know, I know, muscle is heavier than fat).
I need to keep it up for longer than a week!