Having giving birth to a tiny human being over 2 months ago, and making up for the lack of off-limit foods during pregnancy by eating my body weight in Brie and cured meats over Christmas, I decided that instead of moping about feeling like a right old lump I’d best get off my increasingly large backside and do some exercise.
The thought of outdoor jogging was hardly appealing. 1) it’s subzero temperatures in January and pitch black come 5pm and 2) I’m not 100% confident my body would manage a run long enough to burn off a raisin let alone a chocolate bar. Then a thought came to my head – I’d heard about Clubbercise through an old work colleague and had looked at going years ago but had never plucked up the courage to go. When I originally moved to the area, being over an hour away from friends and family was tough. But one of the best things about starting a new life in an unfamiliar town and having a baby is that along the way I have met some amazing women who I genuinely get along with. Yes, there’s the fact we all have babies in common, but there’s so much poo, wee and (lack of) sleep talk you can have before the conversation hopefully moves onto non-baby stuff like what you do for work, your favourite films, reminiscing about uni days and in general cracking jokes about useless partners, bedroom antics and your love for coffee and cake.
It was at a Mumma and baby social that I suggested to a couple of the girls about Clubbercise. I’d hoped the good ol’ phrase of strength in numbers might encourage a group of us to don the Lycra, get off our arses, and actually do some exercise we so often talked about wanting to start again. So on Monday evening myself and two friends arrived at the local sixth form school car park, dressed appropriately in the most garish, neon clad sports entire we could find, and rather sheepishly walked over to the gym doors. I couldn’t help but burst out laughing when we arrived, as I could see the flashing disco lights coming from inside the dark school hall, and I immediately had flash backs of dodgy year 8 discos where boys stood on one side, girls on the other, and eventually Shaggy’s It Wasn’t Me united us all together (little did we realise how inappropriate the context of that song was aged 12 but then again Spice Girls 2 become 1 was my fave way before that so who cares). We were greeted by some smiley ladies dressed in florescent hoodies who asked us to sign a few forms and we handed over our £5 for the hour class. We were given 2 flashing glow sticks each and off we went into the hall.
Now I’ll be honest here, I haven’t felt so ridiculous and nervous yet at the same time so excited in a very long time! I felt like I had been transported back to Ibiza as the impressive music system blared out some of my favourite dance tunes, whilst at the same time assessing the average age of women in the room at about 45 waving these brightly coloured sticks about like an enthusiastic fight path attendant at Luton airport!!
To think that this might be a jolly piss about with my friends would be an understatement because the instructor up front was not mucking about. Equipped with a Britney Spears head mic and quads like a body builder, she kicked off the class with some grapevines and heel taps and quickly progressed into some impressive up tempo aerobics moves. Each music track had a different routine and after initially recovering from our fits of laughter we really got stuck in, attempting to follow her every move grapevining here, doing jumping-jacks there literally sweating our arses off. The best thing about it was that you didn’t really feel like you were working out -punching the air to Pendulum’s Tarantula and marching it out to Martin Garrix Animals were some definate highlights. I sense an animal theme going on here… Also it really is in complete darkness so any initial worries about looking stupid went out the window.
It’s safe to say we’ll definitely be going back next week, and as if anyone ever needed an excuse to buy some more neon clothing this will be mine 😀
*insert cheesy picture of the gorgeous and appropriately sweaty Laura and Heather (and myself) featuring many a glowstick*