And so age crept up on me slowly. I didn’t see it coming. Then one day I was 33, overweight and scared
of the increasing number of years I hoped to clock up.
I made the usual decision.
I’ll get fit. I hated the gym –
puffing away on the machines whilst streamlined goddesses ran and chatted with
ease next to me. Sod that for a barrel
of laughs. Running? Too…. visible.
So…. Dancing! Yes!
It’s so obvious. Dancing is the
way to go. So this chunky mid-30s woman
attempted street dance.
A few steps in and all was going well.
Then I attempted cranking...
It turns out MY milkshake only brings paramedics to the yard
and they’re like: She’s having a fit.
Damned right, I’m having a fit.
Otherwise I have to admit that I thought street dance was suitable for
someone of my age and that yes; that really is how I dance.
Now it’s time to revisit the whole idea. Getting out in the fresh air and volunteering
with an environmental charity is my plan… Let’s just hope their idea of team building
activities for their volunteers isn’t dancing.
Or perhaps I should just stick to jumping in puddles and blowing bubbles. Two things that always make me smile.
