Sunday, 2 June 2013

In which Trisha totally creases me...

So, this morning I wandered down to the river, for kettlebells, my Sunday service.  And my heart sank. No little group loitering by the grass.  Had I got it wrong?  Was it cancelled?

Then Trisha popped out of her car, lean and tanned in tiny shorts and vest. 
‘Where is everyone?’ I asked.
‘On holiday,’ she replied. ‘I think it might just be us.’
And my heart soared.  I looked hopefully at her, fully expecting she’d say something like, ‘So how about we go get some breakfast at the Tantivy?’
‘So…’ she said.  ‘How about we do something different?’
I looked quizzically at her. Not the Tantivy then? 
‘How about we do some interval training?’
It sounded so simple.  ‘Er…sure.’

So we started off running… Well, she ran, I sort of amble-jogged. Then…oh God, I really can’t remember.  It was the longest hardest toughest hour of my life.  I have a dim recollection of doing shuttle runs, followed by sit-ups and push-ups.  There was a bit where we swung monster kettles, then did burpees (oh sweet heavens above, is there any more exquisite form of torture?), then …something or other that was equally painful.

I felt my face go red; I felt sweat gluing my t-shirt to my back; my mouth went dry. People stopped and watched and you could almost see the thoughts going through their heads. Who are these totally mad women and what the freaking hell are they doing on a Sunday morning? 

‘How’re you doing?’ said Trish, not even slightly out of breath.  I just stared, wild-eyed, and sort of spluttered. 'Fine. That is, if dying is fine.'

‘Right. 100 rep cycles now,’ she said. 
‘What?’ I gasped.
‘100 reps of everything – kettlebell swings, arm raises, burpees, kettlebell sit-ups, lateral flies, leg drops, triceps…’  I stopped listening.  ‘Don’t tell me,’ I begged. ‘Let’s just do it.’

And I just endured. And somehow it ended and I was still alive. Sort of.  And, as we walked along the river for a cool-down we bumped into Teresa and Dawn-Marie and Teresa said, ‘Wow.’ And I just sort of grimaced. 
‘You’re so fit,’ she said.  ‘We couldn’t believe what you were doing.’
‘No, I’m not,’ I said.  ‘And nor could I.’
Because the thing is, it’s oh so easy to get into a rut.  I can do my normal routines easy-peasy but this seriously floored me.

‘I think I may have creased Jane,’ said Trisha with an evil grin.
‘I think you may,’ I said with a simulacrum of a smile, mopping my puce-red face.

But truly, it was great. Pushed me out of my comfort zone and made me realize that I’ve let my foot slip off the gas lately.  Put on a fair few pounds; lost a fair bit of aerobic fitness.  Time to make some changes.  J

If you want a Trisha beasting, she offers personal fitness sessions as well as a series of classes (kettlebells, bootcamp, Nordic walking etc.) around Exmoor.  Check out her website.  And...relax...she will work with your level of ability and to your goals. Seriously, it could change your shape; change your life. Save your life even, if you've been killing yourself with food and lack of exercise.  She only beasts me because she knows that, despite all the moaning and groaning, I love it.   

3 comments: said...

Same time same place next week :) grins

Frances said...

Jane, thanks for your reply to your last post.

Isn't it good that we in our very differing geographic locations do connect? I might get more physical exercise in my work-a-day life than I would prefer...yet realize that all that standing, bending, reaching, up and down the stairs and the ladders...does keep my metabolism on the go. (The many unpredictable exchanges with the folks I meet give my mind another sort of work out.)

Truly Jane, I wish I had a bit more choice in this physical/mental workout, but still appreciate its benefits.

You know what a fan I am of your writing and your curiosity and your guidance. xo

Frankie said...

Hah. A hundred reps of burpees would kill me dead. I am only up to sets of 20.