I actually went for three classes – Bodybalance, Bodypump and Bodycombat – in a row last night at One George Street. That’s 2.5 hours of exercise in one night. Sheer madness. And that’s despite the sniffles and inflamed throat I was nursing since morning.
But oddly enough, I am fine, there aren’t muscles screaming in pain except for a little twinge in my thighs (those bloody lunges with weights on your shoulders can kill) and said shoulders. I had decided to stop after 45 minutes of combat because it was just useless. I couldn’t really do the roundhouse or back kicks properly and my arms were just flailing aimlessly in the air. I stopped, listened to my body creak and whine, and went for a nice hot shower before heading home for a night of snug rest.
Trivial: I was actually one of few (or many, who knows?) girls who were shortlisted for an endorsement deal with a very famous sporting gear company. They had called me up early last month for a chat and said they would get back to me but they never did. Which is totally fine because I know I am not exactly the most prolific or popular blogger who writes about sports around town. Besides, I don’t generate comments and hits as the chosen one does, so no complaints there. But well, it sure doesn’t hurt my pride, whee.
There, my very short-lived brush with fame. And free gear (my greatest sorrow).
Anyway, I have decided that my Saturdays post-Chorale will be fun and sun-drenched. I aim to master blading by this year, and also to conquer my fear of cycling. It’s strange, I know, but ever since I plowed straight into a tree trunk while on four wheels when I was a wee kiddie, I have been fearful of cycling since. Straight lines are fine but I get jittery when turning and on slopes.
[Above post has been edited at request of a friend who wishes to remain anonymous]