Preparing for Strictly Come Dancing.
When I told my husband I’d be going to a solo salsa class, he panicked that this time, I really had fallen off the planet. He’s knows I want us to try a couples class, but mental replays of our somewhat cringeworthy wedding dance quickly extinguish that whim.
He’s my excuse for being such a bad dancer and so I was a little petrified of how hastily I’d agreed to join my friend at Solo Salsa (Sosa) because going solo would inevitably mean I didn’t have my inept partner to blame for my lack of dancing prowess. Although there is a little shake in these hips that I save for when the Macarena comes on, I otherwise epitomise what us Brits are known for – awkward dancing.
My cyclist dad intrigued by this new breed of bike
Remember those sunny holidays in the Canary Islands as a child? You know, the ones where your parents caved in to your demands to go on the pedalos? Those holidays aren’t just a distant memory as I discovered last week in France with my parents, by a lake.
Golf pro in the making
I’ve always thought of golf as that sport slightly overweight middle-aged men played because they can’t do much else, but my sister Sara and her family opened my eyes to the hidden qualities this sport has to offer.
I was nervous. Golf would surely be the sport at which I’d make a ripe fool of myself. As this blog of trial and error has so far shown, I wasn’t born blessed with a talent for ball sports and haven’t yet been able to fake a talent for it either. Besides my small stature, I’ve never been too graceful and more than my lack of skill, I was nervous because playing golf would demand applying its endless and extensive list of golf etiquette. The very thought made me wince.
Just keep swimming / cycling / pool biking
Ever since I saw a post on twitter about a new start up in London offering pool biking, I’d been dreaming of the day I’d finally get in the saddle… in the pool… in the saddle… Nevermind.
I was living in Dubai at the time though which meant that dream would only come true once I moved back to England. I hardly felt in a position to complain given I had direct access to the beach just a 20 minute walk away and my new-found love of synchronised swimming was flourishing at a class I attended every Saturday evening.
Pool biking is a quirkier version of spinning; without the hill climbs and finally, after more than six months of being at home, I booked to go to the session with my friend Suzi. Continue reading
Dance like a butterfly, sting like a bee
I was overwhelmingly anxious about trying a kickboxing class to the point that I turned up to the community hall with butterflies in my stomach. Inside I expected to find a litany of stacked men and women, parading and flexing their muscles to the new meat that had just walked through the door. A sure-fire way to put off any beginner. Instead I found a friendly female coach ready to introduce me to the energetic world of kickboxing. Continue reading