Friday Night Jazz Hands

It’s Friday night. On other occasions, I could be three drinks deep by 6 o’clock but tonight I decided to kick my weekend off with endolphins swimming around my veins. My gym instructor, however, had other intentions…

Image result for dance class funny

I’m in the gym studio ready for “Dance Fit” feeling psyched and ready to cut up a rug, well a laminate floor. The class is small, there are four middle aged women to the right of me and I get chatting to the lady on my left. She’s easily pushing seventy and is wildly overweight. The warning bells did not sound in my head. Let’s do this…

She was one of those gym instructors that doesn’t tell you what move is coming next, doesn’t count you in and although she can dance, seems to miss the beat more often than not. We’re all “dancing” to Bang Bang by Will I Am, one of my most favourite songs from The Great Gatsby and I’m jazz-handing the shit out of life. I almost feel guilty – by verse two we’ve completely destroyed the Charleston and side-step-clicked more than a Dad at a school disco.

Next it’s another favourite song from another classic film, Jai Ho from Slumdog Millionaire….

The problem with gym instructors who don’t speak is you end up spending the entire class predicting their next move. Have you ever seen toddlers dance? Yeah. That was us. Flapping our hands around making a few diagonal stomps, faces riddled with confusion. No sooner as we’d understood it was time to change the lightbulb she had us mimicking a snake charmer on ecstasy. The whole entire experience was bizarre.

25 minutes later I’m head down scurrying out of the class. I did contemplate saying I’d hurt my ankle, but realistically she’d only spot me five minutes later on the treadmill doing actual exercise, so I just ducked and ran. I literally work more of a sweat up cooking my poached eggs in the morning. What a waste of time.

I think the lesson learned here is screaming out at me loud and clear – Fridays are for Fun. Time to meet a few Tier Ones for a glass of vino or ten…





Keep Fat or Keep Fit?

There’s something quite cosy about feeling swaddled in a layer of flab as the winter sets in, but when you can see your cheeks without looking down and your work wardrobe is on a three-frock rotation given the fact that nothing else fits, it’s time to reign it in.

I’m now well over a stone heavier than I was last year. It’s okay to let it slip for a few months but you can’t start whining that you look like the Michelin Man when you strip off if you’re not going to do something about it.

Big Girls Don’t Cry – they just shut the fuck up and get to the gym.

I’ve been gymming since I was 15 years old with varying degrees of dedication but I have never particularly been a runner. If you dangled a block of Manchego cheese or a bag of Tangfastics out of a car window and drove off down the M57 I’m pretty confident I could find a way to catch up, but running for fun?

In fact, I will never forget my first ever run around Sefton Park in Liverpool. It went a little something like this….

Park circumference 3.7km
Lap time: 2 minutes 38 seconds
Actual distance: 0.01km
Feeling: fat and embarrassed

I don’t like not being good at things so I went back every single day fuelled by a non-defeatist determination to beat my last non-stop-distance. It took me six days to be able to finally do a full lap of the park, but I did it. VICTORY!

And so, in my quest for an improved version of myself, I’m setting the bar a little higher this time. I’ve signed myself up to my first ever 10k race in May, the Three Peaks Challenge in June and Tough Mudder in September.


It’s time to go from this Image result for onslow to this Image result for jennifer ennis