Earlier this year Jo decided to give a bit of home based exercise a try and hit Amazon for a batch of fitness DVD’s. Soon she had a nice stockpile of programmes to try including a disco dance yourself fit version. Watching Jo desperately try and keep up with this disco dancing American was worth the expense of the DVD on its own.
Eventually the time came when I was sat about on my own one day, Jo off somewhere with the boys and I began wondering what I could do with myself. I thought about what Jo would do in this position and after a big list of cleaning and other jobs sprang to mind, I gave that up and thought about what I would do instead. The answer was simple, I could do Davina McCall.
I popped upstairs and put some shorts and trainers on and fresh with confidence I popped back down and threw in the DVD. A quick look at the menu told me that the boxersize one should suit a man like me down to the ground. Davina looked great and so I looked forward to having a bit of a punch up with her.
The music started and I swiftly worked out what was going on, Davina was supposed like me, the hapless learner and her friend ‘big Tony’ or whatever his name is was the one instructing us. This guy was toned, fit and massive, I guess I’m supposed to think that 3 sessions on Davina’s disc a week will have me looking the same in a month’s time – good luck with that. In no time at all I was learning that boxersize is not the same as Saturday night down Union Street in Plymouth. This dance version of boxing has an altogether different feel. 2 minutes in and I was a sweaty panting mess.
Suddenly I’m being asked to kick as well as punch – what at the same time? Which foot do I lead on? Why have I got to skip in between? It was getting faster and the sadistic trainer wasn’t allowing any breaks for oxygen or water. Davina and her other friends were quite happy occasionally saying “Of course if you can’t do this then just march instead you big girl’s blouse!” No way, if they are skipping I’m skipping. By this point there was a fog starting to form on the ceiling of our lounge as the ocean of sweat from my overweight frame evaporated by the heat I was producing, formed a cloudy rain forest eco system.
During one complicated kick and punch combo I lost all balance and managed completely clear the coffee table of drinks, papers and lamp, no time to stop though I’ve got to skip some more. The floor boards were complaining and next door were calling the Earthquake emergency number asking for immediate aid packages. I persisted though and kept skipping. The words I’d been waiting for finally arrived – “OK now for the cool down!” right I can do this.
The look on that evil gits face as he easily stood there doing the most ridiculous stretches was that of a Bond villain. “I’ll never talk!” I shouted at the screen, “No Mr. Glen – you will die!” laughed the malicious trainer. I held this awful arms over here legs over there stretch for about an hour as Davina remarked how good it was making her feel. I was about to black out as the first drips of rain started now that the climate in the lounge was cooling. We were done; I collapsed in a heap and used my teeth to drag myself over to the TV. Painstakingly I took the DVD out, slipped it into the wrong cover and threw it behind the TV, I figured that this should keep it safe.
I laid there for an hour, pulse slowly returning to it’s proper pace. Eventually Jo came home to find me lying in the middle of a puddle of sweat rain and coffee table debris. Slowly she managed to carry me upstairs, the boys holding my legs. I was thrown in the bath and left there. Several hours later she relaxed when she discovered that I’d not in fact been on the Smirnoff whilst she was out, but had actually being doing Davina. I do feel a little let down though. That was 6 months ago and I still haven’t noticed any improvement on my Abs – surely it should have taken effect by now shouldn’t it?
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