Strength class more for me than gym was

AT The Camellias, apartments for the independent over-0s, some of us are trying to get fit, or at least more fit than we are at the moment.

Spring is coming over the horizon and we want to be able to get out and about. We do not aspire to join the lycra-clad runners in the river park, that would be a step too far and a step too fast, but it would be nice to walk down into the town to have a choice of coffee venues.

I am in luck because I have been referred to a local strength and balance class. The idea is to help me not fall over again and occupy one of the hospital beds for nine nights as I did last summer.

Strength and balance comes in several levels of difficulty; I have passed through ‘beginners’ where most exercises can be tackled seated and I am now in ‘achievers’ or perhaps more accurately ‘would-be achievers.’ The class is led by a physiotherapist and held in the church hall. We move around the room on a circuit, lifting dumbbells of different weights to build up our arm muscles – I am still on pink, the lowest of the low – walking sideways, pointing toes, standing on a wobble cushion to steady our legs.

Volunteers from the town Helping Hands Group come to provide physical and emotional support, with tea and cake at the end. They are much appreciated; most of us will go a long way for a bit of friendly chat and a slice of lemon sponge.

After 24 weeks we will graduate, with regret I guess, but we may be referred to the next level ‘maintainers.’ No slipping back into bad old ways of afternoons on the riser recliner watching the telly.

I have joined several classes like this since I retired, preferably offering mixed exercises. In the classes specialising in pilates or yoga or Tai Chi some people will have been at it for ages, their purple yoga mats worn thin, their muscles doing all the right things. This is demoralising if you are hoping to feel pleased with yourself after one minute of standing on the wobble cushion.

I was not good at gym at school; I got vertigo half way up the climbing ropes and had to keep my eyes shut. Miss Darke our teacher, ex-ATS, was clearly in despair at having to summarise my ineptitude, she wrote on my report term after term ‘she tries.’

The strength and balance classes I now attend are different from those scary gym classes. The incentive is there for one thing – to keep walking. I could never find a motive for swinging across the wall on monkey bars.

Also not spoiling children with too much praise and encouragement has I think gone out of fashion in parenting and educational circles. In my day unless you came top in exams or was captain of hockey you kept your head down. We get masses of encouragement in strength and balance, it is most cheering.

However, the way life goes and the challenges it throws at you can be surprising. New fire regulations mean our apartments at The Camellias must have front doors which seal so hermetically tightly that every gram of arm muscle we can build up will be worth having. I am trying to progress to the more demanding turquoise dumbbells and, Miss Drake – I apologise for my lack of appreciation of the ropes.