Wednesday, 29 May 2013

A Moose of a morning

Guess what? I succumbed.

Not to the endless (mindless) idiotic PR boomerangs that get regularly thrown my way (pram-a-thons, anyone? or maybe 'guest posts' on baby clothing? or even 'sample sessions' for new kiddie adventure playgrounds? good grief, do these people ever read my profile?) but to a genuine offer of something that I was game to try first hand.

A Personal Training session on my home ground. Get me.

Cue the Moose.

The name's Moose. Nick 'Moose' Master Trainer

On the dot of 7.17am he turned up, introduced himself, frog-marched us to the nearest open space, cursed that it was not raining, and then put us (that's BB and yours truly) through our paces.*

* some of that may not be quite true

This was my first reaction.

Run away! He'll never catch you!

Alas. I also had to come back. He already had BB doing squats with a 12kg kettle ball. I could not abandon her given that I had been warned that "the Moose loves Brazilians" - we hope the human, not the waxing, kind.

Squat no. 27 of 100 reps

He got us skipping, pulling, punching, lifting, sprinting, raising, lunging, press-upping and...

Was this your idea?
Me? Don't be ridiculous

... planks.

Oooh, I like your nail colour!

Oh yes. So attractive. The Moose's one comment? "Get your bottom down, Miss Brazil!"
We would have laughed had we had any breath left. Instead we looked at our nails and compared manicures. We are *that* sophisticated.

Verdict? Excellent. Fun, convenient, no frills and 'does what it says on the tin'.
I'll be booking more. Although I might have to prise BB away from Elliott to get her along again.

Oh, and this is what the Moose *really* looks like first thing in the morning.

Check him out for yourself - button on the sidebar with all the links and details and discounts!

I am now going to sit down. I might need the Moose to help me get up again.


Saturday, 11 May 2013

Another case for new hips

They say that time heals everything.

It has also been been stated that your memory fades as you get older.

On a similar note, we all know that history repeats itself.

Einstein said that "Time is an illusion."

Almost three years ago - when I was a mere slip of a wetsuit and BB was not yet my 'Brand Manager' (more of that in a future post) - I danced the night away at an open air concert to the boppy tunes of Bjorn Again. It was brilliant fun.

Never mind that I was a contender for Tena Lady (as were my other companions at the time, which gave rise to even more laughter) and that the following day my hips creaked so much from all the pogo dancing and jumping about that I could barely walk, let alone get out of my seat.

Did I learn anything?

Did I heck.

Last night was the end-of-season celebration party at our rugby club. Parents only, not a child in sight, phenomenal turn-out, a number of the premiership team players at our tables for added effect, great vibe and - get this - one of the best live bands currently playing in London. Trust me, I booked them.

Cue this morning.

My hips hurt.

My knees ache.

I am still deaf and the ringing in my ears persists.

I am slightly hoarse (singing? shouting? certainly wasn't from talking).

I managed only four and a half hours sleep before another training session with BB beckoned.

Yet amidst all that I recalled a flash of a photograph being taken quite late.
So I sent out a query to the lovely woman who organised the whole event.
And got this.

LCM  attempts to demonstrate the 'dip'
dance move with LW hooker Mr Neil Briggs

Best thing? I was driving, so you do the maths.

Which is why Oscar Wilde stated: "With age comes wisdom, but sometimes age comes alone."

Or with a professional rugby player, for that matter.


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