I’ve finally seen the error of my ways and realised that pole dancing – even in the name of exercise – is not for me. Or at least it’s not for someone of my age who wants to maintain even a small portion of dignity.
Now I’m not a party pooper, but there are times I come out in a cold sweat when I think what I was talked into giving a try.
But at least I can say I gave it a go before admitting it wasn’t for me.
However, keen to continue my healthy lifestyle and maintain/transform this body into something that I don’t squirm at every time I look in the mirror, I’ve joined the gym.
That in itself was a bit of a trial. For me the word gym is synonymous with schooldays when there was the weekly trial by the sadistic PE teacher who, unless you were brilliant at games and by virtue one of their class pets, took delight in making your life miserable.
I hated gym lessons with a passion, probably because I couldn’t do forward rolls, no matter how hard I practiced.
But my friend convinced me that the gym instructor would not make me do forward rolls so I was safe to go along for the induction.
Then there was the added trauma of what to wear. Can a woman of a certain age be seen in lycra and not have others fall about laughing? Then I gave myself a shake and realised that if some woman can go to pole dancing classes the gym should be a walkover.
Well it almost was. A very nice young chap took the induction – there was five of us all signing up so it was quite easy for me to ‘lose’ myself in the crowd. He showed us all how the equipment operated and said we only had to ask for help if we had any queries.
Then we were let loose to try things for ourselves. The treadmill was easily mastered and I tried not to be pressurised to jog faster by the female going full pelt beside me, realising I was more than likely to fall flat on my face if I over did things.
And do you know, there were people there who were older than me! That gave me a great encouragement. So watch out, hopefully this summer will see a new slimline Kate.