I’m a real cheapskate. There was a yoga class on at the gym and I was going to go, but wanted to use the treadmill first, so I called to find out the cost.
£3.90 for yoga and £2.30 for the gym. EGADS. £6.20?! That’s over S$18!!! For less than two hours* at the leisure centre? That’s daylight robbery, that is. So I decided to walk the 20 minutes to the gym and think about running another day (and I’m on the brink of yet another cold).
I got to the leisure centre a little early, and the taekwondo class was still using the squash court where the yoga class would be held, so I waited outside the main hall for Carene, who was taking the Salsacise class before yoga. Now, I didn’t see any Salsa happening in the dying moments of the class, and techno is NOT salsa. Other people may enjoy these led aerobics classes, but I am not co-ordinated. There are years of incontrovertible empirical evidence to support this theory. The other really negative thing about this class was the instructor was waaaaaay too perky — after an hour of bopping around I don’t need perky to remind me how unfit I am.
So. Yoga. Things started out great when the instructor said she’d been listening to Marilyn Manson. Not one of those Zen fakers. I like. She took us through a ‘relaxing’ session, which, at one point, involved headstands while balancing our knees on our elbows (I managed a one-second headstand — wahey!). There were lots of poses (not that I could ever catch the names of any of them) that I think were complicated by my gangly arms and legs**.
My favourite part (well, the bit that made me giggle — not focused!) was when we were sitting cross-legged with our hands on our knees, palms up, and the instructor said, “Say to yourself, My body is my temple.”
Neil usually says that when he buys sugary baked goods. Or chocolate.
So I think I’ll go back to the yoga class, as it’s on twice a week (I’ll go on one of the two days). Hopefully I’ll get better at it, and it’ll help me with my flexibility and stretch me out after running.
About the running. Neil identified an open, well-lit route along the main streets of our neighbourhood well before I arrived in Scotland. I’ve jogged it a couple of times, and while the distance is ideal (just under two km per lap), something’s not quite right about it. I think I need to be able to KNOW exactly how long I have run, and to be able to do my version of speed training according to specific distances. There is a running track on the other end of town (it’s actually too far to walk there and back by any practical means), so I’m going to try and visit this evening to see what time the gates get locked. If I can get in an hour’s go at the track, three times a week, I will be a happy girl.
Update: I just called the club that owns the track. Access to the track is only available during the day. This entire country is set up to be a disincentive to work, I swear.
* That’s really all the time I can manage.
** I’m gangly for a short person.