My body is in shock. I’ve upset it and now it hates me.
I wasn’t built for exercise, so much so that by year nine my mum just relented and wrote letters to excuse me from Sports day every year because it wasn’t worth the ear ach. Luckily, at that time in my life I was into horses, so mum had got me a horse as a bribe to move away from where I grew up and in with my stepdad across town. She thought, rightly, it would keep me out off trouble and away from boys. Funnily enough, when you turn up to school daily with hay in your hair stinking of manure, guys tend to give you a fairly wide berth. So I used to get my exercise without realising it, lugging bags of feed and bails of hay around.
That was 12 years ago, and as soon as boys and trouble became more appealing the poor horse was sold and the little lard pixies set up their scaffolding and got to work on my body.
Between now and then, there have been sporadic attempts at exercise.
Skateboarding: I was beyond rubbish, so I just used to carry it around to look cool.
Inline skating: See Skateboarding!
Yoga: Which made me cry because it highlighted I was in fact made of wood and have the body of an 80 year old.
Street Dance: Which I used to attend with my friend Little A. I used to love street dance, but spent most of my time throwing obscure shapes at the back, repeatedly asking Little A “Does this look shit?”. It was also full of girls who looked good in spandex and had great hair, so I felt like I was cramping their style.
The Gym: I think to date I’ve had at least 8 memberships, all of which I’ve stopped attending after about 2 months. Funnily enough it takes approximately this amount of time to remember that I really really hate the gym.
Cycling: Which I still do a bit of, but at a leisurely pace rather than anywhere near exertion.
Running: I tried to train for the race for life a few years ago. I ran twice then realised you could walk it. So that ended that.
British Military Fitness: This was pretty hardcore training. I used to go with someone who is more senior at work. One session we had to sort of mud wrestle. Being of a competitive nature my senior workmate pinned me to the floor, attacked my face with a clod of dirt repeating “I can get you sacked you know”. So that stopped.
Horse riding: I do half an hour a week. Hardly exercise when the horse does most of the moving whilst supporting your body for you.
Rock Climbing: My new venture, spawned from attending a motivational talk by Bear Gryls. He climbed Everest - I can now get to the top of the kid’s wall at Awesome Walls… watch your back Bear!
In light of the above, it probably makes it that bit clearer why the mere thought of interval training sparks off psychosomatic pains all over my body. But I’m dedicated to this now, so this morning Husband and I got up and got on with it.
According to the program on the interval training website, sprinting is the best way to do this. I’ve never been a runner and feel much more at home on a bike, so decided to use my bike for the first few sessions while I get to grips with it.
“The first week looks quite easy”. These were Lodgers words, which I am going to print off and get her to eat them.
Week one is a 5 minute warm up, 6 x 30” Sprints with 90” rests in-between and a 5 minute warm down.
The first sprint on the bike was ok; I could feel my heart thumping as I rested for 90 seconds but was suitably fooled into thinking it was well within the parameters of my fitness level.
I was SO wrong. By the third sprint, my legs felt like jelly and I could feel my breakfast deliberating reappearance.
By sprint 5 my throat was burning and I was getting funny looks from dog walkers, as I sat panting on my bike counting to 90. Husband told me he would ride ahead and film me doing the 6th sprint.
My first attempt started off well (as well as in my legs moved and I didn’t vomit), but out of nowhere a little old couple waddled out with a dog and I had to skid to a stop.
Husband shouted he would cycle on further and we would try again. As he moved out of site I set off. What Husband didn’t tell me, was between him and I there was a big bloody barrier in the path – at which I would have to stop, get off my bike, lift it over and continue.
As I got to the barrier my temper began to flair. Exercising was bad enough, but prolonging the experience was more than I could cope with.
“What are you doing?!!”
“There is a big bloody barrier in the way – how am I meant to sprint through that, I’ll have to do it again!”
“I didn’t put that barrier there, it’s not my fault”
“But you are on the other side of it, what were you expecting me to do?? Go through it?”
“Right! YOU STAY THERE”
I’d had enough, I’d snapped, this was the 3rd 6th sprint and something told me Husband was sadistically enjoying this. An old guy passing raised one eyebrow and asked Husband if he was heading for a divorce as I stomped off in a silent tantrum pushing my bike back to the start of the track. Divorce wasn’t being considered, but sticking my bike up his backside sideways was if I had to do this one more time.
Luckily, that time, we weren’t thwarted by old people, or solid objects or Husbands faith that I could pass through solid objects. I’d completed the first session of this week.
As a reward, Husband went to the shop and bought me a pizza and the August issue of Marie Claire. As I happily sit here, munching on half a margarita and flicking through the pages, something jumps out at me and sends me soaring back under. MORE INTERVAL TRAINING. Thanks Marie Claire – you sadistic bastards, if I don’t look like Gisele after this, we’ll be having words.
When I got the camera home and loaded the video onto the computer – Husband had managed to hold the camera the wrong way up. I can’t change the rotation on my laptop so the 3 attempts to capture it were useless anyway.
Arrggghhh I need chocolate!