Because it is quite a long distance, I sometimes drive him. It is actually a peaceful refreshing hour while I wait for him, because I can read the newspaper,undisturbed with a cup of coffee in my hand. I wait for him and then we drive home.
The last time I was surprised by music and discovered a gymnastic group. It looked very harmonious and rhythmic. I felt a desire to participate and decided the following week to give it a go.
So I ended up in an hour of “Pump”. You get weights, a mat, stoppers and then you’re off. I soon discovered that what from the outside seemed so effortless, required a lot of effort. 10 repetitions of an exercise in areas, where my muscles are conspicuous by their absence, are OK, 20 can be overcome and 30 belong to the world of fantasy and for me are at present unthinkable.
Somehow I survived the 60 minutes. Believe me, it was very strenuous. I expected that the next day would start with terrible stiff muscles. Not at all. On Sunday not a single muscle fibre tweaked. I felt very superior.
But Monday was all the worse. When my muscles stiffen up, I am always surprised where I have muscles. It was bitter, like a late punishment for my superiority. It took almost 3 days until my body had recovered.
Now I’m wondering whether I should submit to the same torture on Saturday, because my youngest has asked me whether I can drive him.
Image source: Stephanie Hofschlaeger / pixelio.de