Tuesday, 23 October 2012

I Don't See Nothin' Wrong With A Little Bump n' Grind

Each day, the average adult requires at least half an hour of relatively vigorous exercise in order to maintain a healthy lifestyle and prevent dropping dead at the ripe old age of 25. Despite having the occasional multi-pack single packet of crisps and having a few pints every day now and then, I lead a very health conscious lifestyle. I always walk to work (because I have no other option), and I have never, not once, not even when I was unemployed and miserable, eaten an entire circle of Camembert cheese in one sitting. That definitely did not happen at all.
...
So. Anyway. Exercise. According to this 'half an hour a day rule' that everyone refers to but no one can actually cite reference to, I should be exercising for 30 minutes per 24 hours. I don't mean to be a diva, but this doesn't really fit comfortably into my schedule of working, drinking and eating cheese, so instead I play squash for one and a half hours on a Monday and, if we're going by a roll over system here, that should do me until Thursday. Right? Right. So on Thursdays, I go swimming for an hour, and then that lasts me until the weekend, and I don't exercise on the weekend because the Sabbath is a day of rest, and who am I, a lowly peasant, to argue with the Lord? My sister Kezia and I have recently taken squash back up after a hearty eight year rest, during which Kezia stayed pretty much the same size and I, naturally, got fat. (There may or may not be a direct correlation between the amount of cider and Camembert I consumed over the years and the percentage by which my weight increased). I blame any and all excess weight from the ages of 13 to 22 on the squash coach we had when we were younger who went to the trouble of enforcing a ban on Kezia and I playing against each other, citing 'physical violence' as the main issue. I feel Kezia herself is also partially to blame for the demise of my once lean and slender (ish) body. You know when people get a really misbehaved cat after it acted all cute at the shelter and then turned out to be a little shit, so they spray it with water every time it is naughty and thus the cat starts to associate bad behaviour with being drenched with water out of an old Mr. Muscle bottle? Well that is what exercise is to me. I became conditioned to expect pain (being hit with Kezia's squash racket) every time I was involved in any kind of strenuous activity and thus avoided it at all costs. What surprised me the most, however, is that Kezia was oddly unaffected by these violent games and did not appear to be tormented by similar demons, despite me once almost (accidentally, I feel I should stress) drowning her to the point where she turned blue, cried, and had to go see the camp counsellor... Maybe my mistake was just doing it the one time. Perhaps she had to almost die every time we went swimming for it to work properly. Oh well. You live and you learn.

Although it fits in well with my roll over system, Thursday night swimming is not as fun as it could be, as, apparently, Thursday night swimming is also a big hit with the dreaded teacher-swimmers. Teacher-swimmers are the worst kind of swimmers you can encounter in the pool and, if possible, they should be avoided at all costs. If you are not familiar with these creatures, they are hoards of women who are often, but not necessarily, of the teaching profession and can be aged anywhere between 30 and 60. Teacher-swimmers do not enjoy getting their hair wet and thus swim at approximately 0.2 miles per hour in order to create minimal splash. In itself, this is not necessarily a problem, but these woman often feel that they simply do not see enough of each other throughout the week and that they just don't have enough chance to chat properly at work/at staff meetings/at dinner/on staff nights out, and this is where the real problem begins. In order to continue their chatter about which staff members they dislike, why Little Timmy is mixed race when the rest of his siblings are suspiciously not, and who left those inappropriate photos on the school camera, the teacher-swimmers swim five abreast, effectively taking up at least two thirds of the swimming pool and making it incredibly difficult to get out of once you find yourself caught behind a pack. With this in mind (and taking into account that there are only so many accidental kicks on the way past you can get away with), we decided to change our swimming to Tuesday nights instead. Tuesday nights, however, are filled by one of the worst things to come out of the 20th century after shoulder pads - aqua aerobics. Or, as our local pool has taken it upon itself to call it, aquasize. If there was one thing in this world that I am not at all suited to, aerobics is it. My hand-eye coordination is spot on (if I do say so myself), but when it comes to doing anything that requires any kind of coordination at all or, God forbid, grace, then I am not the person for it. Nothing has made me re-evaluate my life more than being in a swimming pool doing something that can only be described as 'prancing' amidst of a group of middle aged women, two of whom couldn't even swim and as such had to stand in the shallow end with a float while the rest of the class (the advanced ones, if you will) paddled to the deep end. Who goes to an aqua-aerobics class without being able to swim?! I mean, come on, really?

Weight-loss fanatics are everywhere you go these days. I heard two women talking at work the other day about WeightWatchers as they stood behind the counter admiring the cakes. "Oooh, it's really good!" said one of them, "My friend Julie lost ten pounds!" to which the other one replied, wait for it, "What? In weight?"... In weight. It took every ounce of self-restraint I had not to walk up to her and say, "no, dickhead, she got mugged on the way in," but I didn't, because I am a respectful member of staff, and I instead politely asked them if they would like a sample of cake. I've been on my best behaviour at work recently with just a few minor hiccoughs - apparently, it is mildly inappropriate to sing R Kelly's Bump N' Grind behind the counter whilst bumping and grinding against other members of staff. Who knew? Personally, I don't see nothing wrong with it...

2 comments:

Davina said...

I really didn't think it necessary to comment on the sexuality of the counsellor.

AliceFleur said...

This is possibly the best way to avoid doing any sort of uni work. Love a good procrastination.