Hi,
As the title would suggest, this week I've finally worked up the
courage to get off my bum and exercise. After a relaxed week of
intermittently studying (allophonic variation and other phonological
concepts which are making my brain hurt) and hanging out with my new
flatmate, I think I needed the Wake Up Call of Doom which this
weekend's run round Paris instilled.
First things first: generally speaking, I wouldn't describe myself as
unfit. I can endure most forms of exercise (within reason) and my
muscles aren't completely dormant – they've just been
resting well this winter. However, the extent of my exercise routine
now is one ballet lesson a week and walking to the train station
(which is what the government most likely defines as “sedentary
lifestyle”).
I spent Saturday evening at a friends' apartment in Paris and on
Sunday morning we woke up to go to a free yoga class which was
several miles from where she lives.
“Let's run there” was the overall consensus the previous evening
over fish & chips.“It's only 3 miles”.
The night before we'd gone out in Paris to this
place called “Le Comptoir General”.
We had to queue up for about 45 minutes to get into this gratified,
“ghetto” club opposite Canal Saint Martin, but once we got in we
realised it was nothing like what we were expecting; it was better:
Here's the tipunch, a typical cocktail from the Antilles. It consists of double rum, a squeeze of lime, a cinnamon stick and a taste of "cane syrup" (I couldn't taste the syrup though) served in tiny glasses a la style Parisienne.
I can honestly say it's the first time on my year abroad so far I've
really felt like I was actually in Martinique (a mere shard of the
shattered dream).
So anyway, on Sunday morning as we started off our run from Gare du
Nord I was feeling great. The winter air does give you an incentive
to keep moving, well at the beginning of Exercise Session at least.
Mid-way Exercise session I could feel myself lagging, or at least my
body was telling me “Now is when you'd be slowing to a walking pace
for the sake of your poor, dormant leg muscles, if you were on your
own”.
But in spite of this, my respiratory system was telling me I could
keep going. And my “Working Out” playlist was finally being put
to good use, so I kept up the pace against the odds.
Twenty five minutes into Exercise Session (aka four songs distance
from our free yoga class) I could feel myself lagging gravement,
lagging in the way that if my muscles, lungs, etc had voices
they'd be saying “No! No! No!” repeatedly to every beat of the
background music. I could feel that horrible ache below my ribs, the
first sign of a stitch – to those of you who remember P.E. lessons
at school where the teacher made you “run laps” or the horror of
all horrors, bleep tests; that awful cramping sensation which makes
you feel as those the whole side of your ribcage is on fire,
sympathize now.
As we arrived at the yoga class and finally slowed to a stop, I
caught sight of myself in a shop window. I looked like this:
It's always a slight wake up call when I catch sight of myself during
or after a run. As soon as I get into leggings and trainers and
attempt to run around in public, I like to imagine I am a graceful,
innocent, doe-like creature who wouldn't hurt a soul:
But in reality, I have as much grace and poise as this:
One-nil to Exercise vs. Rachel. Yoga class next.
I have to say, I am not 100% sure
about yoga. It's not the stretching and legs-in-the-air or balancing
on one leg – I do ballet remember – it's more the “Open your
spirit” and “make a huuuuum noise so that the energy can flow”.
Anyway it was my first official
yoga class, which also happened to be in French. There was barely any
space so we lay our mats out in the fire exit and then proceeded to
follow the instructions in French rather cluelessly. “Main droit a
coté de la cuisse gauche...” and “Inspire...EXPIRE!” (Inhale,
exhale).
It was a bit like Twister, if I am
telling the honest truth. Plus it was made even more complicated due
to the fact that every five seconds we were forced to adopt this
position:
and then this:
In actual fact it is called "the Upward Dog":
 |
| #doggyyoga |
None of us could for the life of us
understand every word the woman was saying (she wasn't even within
our field of vision there were so many Yoga attendees in the room),
so what we had to do is continually glance up and around at everyone
else while we were trying to execute this position:
I enjoyed it nonetheless (the
stretching and balancing part) except for this position, which is
deceptively more difficult than it looks:
We finished off with some
“Namaste”:
And then lay flat back on our Yoga
mats for five minutes at the end with our eyes closed which I have to
say provided me with an opportunity to fall asleep for a short while.
After that we sat cross-legged and
all of a sudden the room was filled with a HUUUUUUM noise (All the
Yoga clichés are true! People sitting cross-legged and humming!) at
which point one of the girls next to me dissolved into giggles, which
set me off and the rest of us.
I am sure that it wasn't “Yoga
Etiquette” though, because there were some extremely concentrated
people a few rows in front of us who looked mildly annoyed –
whereas others were fighting back grins themselves.
After Yoga we went for a coffee
(which turned into coffee and one of the most, if not the most,
delicious slices of cheesecake I've ever eaten).
Anyway, that was my weekend of fun
for you – conclusion: Time to Start Running Again and Time to Stop
Giggling and Ruining the “Energy”.
