Gymnastique Gripes...

From September last year I've been going to a gym class at our Salle de Fêtes. About twenty ladies regularly attend and the classes cover a varied programme of fitness and exercise routines to suit all tastes.

We have done some dance (!) Some work with small balls (!!) and some floor work, both singly and with a partner. We've also covered some work on balance and directions - not really my forte...

When we returned  to Braye post Christmas, we called in at the Mairie for our supply of sacs de déchets for the next six months and Michelle, the secretary, asked me if I had "un step" for next weeks class? I haven't, but when she then asked about "un grand ballon", I could reply "oui!"

So today Colin has resurrected my old and somewhat tired "grand ballon" and given it an injection of compression gas...

The question is, how the heck am I going to get this 65cm monster to the Salle de Fêtes in one piece next Monday night?

I get a lift with three other ladies in a neighbours car. Now it's not the smallest of cars but nevertheless I hardly think it will accommodate four of us, with our "grands ballons" in tow! Nor do I fancy walking alone, carrying the darn thing through the woods in pitch dark. It would be a miracle if it got there still inflated!

This gym lark is all well and good but my other gripe is that this year I'll need a doctor's letter to allow me to attend, as I reach the 'very much past it' age of sixty. In my book if I'm fit to do extreme gardening I'm quite sure I'm ok to sit on a ballon de gymnastique and raise my arms to shoulder height without doing myself lasting damage.

You see, I've never been very sporty and the idea of going out into the cold to a not particularly well-heated Salle de Fêtes each Monday takes its toll on me. So I'm looking for reasons not to attend, despite forking out the 110 € for the pleasure of attending.

I'll just have to remember the laughs it has given me when I've lacked co-ordination in a dance routine, or had a fit of the giggles at the sight of a room full of ladies trying to do what we called "the crab" when we were little, or the sheer despairing laughter as I've stepped to the left when the rest of the world is going right...

In fact I think that last just about sums up the story of my life!! Perhaps le gymnastique is not for me after all!