“Train together, stay together” or so they say about couples. I can see some benefits … the most obvious being you are both sweaty and smelly at the same time! So, when Old Fart declared that he was going to try the mid-morning Roll & Recover class as he now was starting work later on Mondays, I was curious to see how he would handle having his better half in the same class for the first time. He was used to holding court at 6.30am with his harem fussing around him while he hangs his head, complaining how tired he is to extract maximum sympathy.
It started very positive … all of the ladies groaning away as we rolled out the tension in our muscles whilst catching up on the gossip. When asked by Adonis why he wasn’t rolling out his quads like the rest of us, Old Fart had the chutzpah to deliver a predictable dirty joke, his trademark reference to low-hanging fruit, delightfully tasteless and timeless. (His dirty jokes are amusing at 6.30am when we are half asleep)!
The next few seconds were a blur …
All I can recall your honour, was a hard, spiky massage ball hurtling through the air and landing on the Old Fart’s forehead. The usually patient, doting but now exasperated wife had launched and deployed her missile and blood was drawn … let’s face it … everything is dramatic when it comes to the Old Fart.
Interestingly, Old Fart hasn’t had the balls to return to the mid-morning Roll & Recover class …
In terms of cramping one’s style I have my own frustrations with Boy Wonder, my 16-year-old who now insists on joining me for some of the evening Blast classes. What used to be my domain, my home away from home where I could be carefree, flirty Dana and pretend I hadn’t given birth to a whinging tween, a princess and a soon-to-be-man has been infiltrated and for the two evening classes we attend together I carefully monitor every word that leaves my lips. Don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled about Boy Wonder’s enthusiasm to get fit, eat healthier and of course his desire to get ripped (sadly not genetically possible, if only I had slept with Arnie). It’s just that I ask the question: does our ‘special’ quality time together have to happen while I am wearing lycra and panting as if each breath is my last?
So, at the climax on the cardio equipment when McSweaty enthusiastically shouts “coming up 60 seconds at 100% effort” with a mischievous grin from ear to ear – I refrain from my usual response of “get a life” and instead shout out enthusiastically “let’s do this” (inwardly rolling my eyes).
Boy Wonder ascends from the rower, having smashed the 60 seconds with a 330 metre row, strutting like Tom Cruise descending the fighter jet in Top Gun (minus the Ray-Bans).
Next round is body weight exercises, starting with mountain climbers. I crawl on all fours to the middle of the room – amateurs take note, standing up in-between exercises is such a waste of energy. From the other side of the gym Adonis bellows …
“Segelovs … no Harbour Bridges, bums down – don’t copy your mother”