Salad craze

While trying to impress Himself with her gym prowess, Sophie White managed to render herself even more helpless than ever through her exertions

T“Even drinking tea while reclining on the sofa was too much exertion, each sip an attack on my abs”

he gym never held much appeal for me until I took up reformer Pilates. I think all my former gym experiences had been marred by irritation, which, despite the almost full-body experience said irritation can be, doesn’t actually count towards your cardio. Though I still maintain that a lengthy internal rage-bout is cardio of the mind, and future generations of scientists will discover its health-giving properties. Sadly, I’ll be long dead, and unable to shove it in the faces of the positive-vibesonly brigade. But I digress.

I had finally found a gym class I enjoyed. Himself was sceptical.

“So you lie on a machine and yank on various pullies and levers to exercise your body?” When put like that, reformer Pilates does sound oddly like something some snake-oil-peddling man with hair pomade invented in his shed in the 1930s, but I energetically defended it. And that, unfortunately, was my downfall.

“It’s a real exercise class, it’s really challenging but it’s not high-impact — like, even old people can do it.”

He arched an eyebrow, the scent of blood in his nostrils. “Old people? Are there old people in this class, Soph?” He was withering.

I tried to protest and claw back some upper hand. “Yeah, but it’s because it’s a midweek morning class and I’m doing way more hardcore stuff than them.” Not even true, I might add.

He got great mileage out of me and my retirement-community gym class. So much so that I wondered if I should find something a shade more challenging. Even my Pilates teacher was perplexed every time I bounded into the room, easily three decades younger than everyone else there. “Would you not try something a little more demanding?” he implored.

Eventually I acquiesced, and found myself in a class called something like ‘Body Attack’ or ‘Body Annihilation’, lurching around doing squats and lunges while swinging weights, my tears mixing with sweat, as I internally screamed.

The class was a nightmare, but at least I’d show Himself. Sadly, I woke up the next day and found I was unable to walk up or down stairs. All I was able to show Himself was how feeble I was. Everything hurt. Even drinking tea while reclining on the sofa was too much exertion, each sip an attack on my abs. Now that I’m unable to attend my Last of the

Summer Wine gym class, I’ve been eating salads so that I can still feel a part of the gym lifestyle during my period of recuperation.