Jumping with hoops

Hello dear friend - it's been too long!

 I hope you've started the new year well, with plans and time to do more of the things you enjoy with the people you love. 

Over the past couple of years, I have had to bid farewell to some of the things I'd come to enjoy, and things that had in the past worked absolute wonders for my confidence.  Having to hang up my goal keeper gloves, to hand down my climbing shoes and to skip away from the trampoline has been suboptimal.  My last forray onto a rowing machine ended with the return of the dreaded braces.

Of course I remained hopeful that I'd find a new thing.  A brilliant, fun, exhilarating thing that will make me want to keep exercising.  Bewinged by such prospects, I went for a run - and immediately remebered that I hate running.  It's. The. Worst.

As a last resort,  I took up knitting and decided that the best I could hope for at this stage is that  my unbendy swelly fingers will have a six pack. Obviously, I'm not a natural, but during my last visit to a wool shop another customer asked me for advice becasue I "look like someone who knows about needles".  That statement did mixed things for my confidence.

HOWEVER!  It's 2025, and it's been too long since fun happened. Coincidentally, among the many adverts for reduced gym memberships and diet advice, there was a post from a fitness instructor whose Tap dancing classes I had attened in 2019.  She was advertising Hula Hoop Classes - and could there BE a better way to start a new year?

With only a couple of hours to go before the class, the well-known "what have I done" dread sunk in, and in my despair I messaged Morgan (who previously dragged me to Netball).  Because she's the kind of Lady who is up for crazy at short notice.  She agreed to come along, thus impeding any last minute exit manouvers from my part. 

Never mind, I thought, how hard can it be, I thought, you just hula a bit and go home, I thought.  Friend, this was HARD!  The hulaing was just the warm up!  Swinging a weighted hoop around our hips was but the beginning.  There was hooping whilst standing on one leg, hooping whilst dancing, hooping whilst running and hooping whilst passing a ball.  There was evening hooping whilst chasseing. (I just wanted to get the word "chasseing" in there *Miranda face*.)

By the time we had toned our cores and tightened our waists, we moved on to arms by swinging the hoop around our arms, our hips, even above our heads.  Or in my case, narrowly avoiding breaking my nose.  Similar misshaps happened when we used hoops to intensify crunches, deepen squats and exacerbate lunges, and I most certainly felt the absence of biceps during the "fun" dance moves that involving lifting and waving hoops in ways beyond your imagination. 

Before the class ended with cool down stretches, we literally had to jump through hoops.  As most things in this class, initial observations fooled me into thinking that I could totally do that, and then I totally couldn't.

Despite the sweat and the pain and the realisation of my utter lack of fitness and coordination, I had so much fun.  I think I smiled for about 45 Minutes (for 15 minutes approximately I wore an expression of exasperation and despair).  Chantell did an amazing job to keep the class varied, high energy and always moving.  The other team members, Sue and Keri, were discreetly on hand to explain a certain move, break down a complex sequence or offering alternatives for any exercises I couldn't do.  But the entire group was so positive and supportive, that I felt a little bit like hugging everyone on exit. The feeling passed - we were all very very sweaty. 

                                            Hula with Morgan, the queen of the arm swing!

Interested in giving it a go?  Here's what you need to know:

Comfortable shoes (or clean socks)

Comfortable clothing - and trousers that stay firmly in place. Trust me. 

A bottle of water.  Trust me.  You won't think you'd need it until suddenly BAM! you're on the floor, out of breath, begging for water.

Joy in your heart*.  Because you'll probably drop the hoop, you'll fall over it, you'll bang yourself in the face with it. Maybe that's just me - but you'll definitely do it better if you do it with joy.  

 (*Or skills.  Maybe if you have skills you don't eed the joy.  Still, I think the joy helps).

A coach:  We went for a class lead by Chantell from Fit Fusion Felixstowe, which cost £8.00

*For this class, the hoops were provided by Chantell, but it may be worth checking if you are expected to bring your own if you book with a different coach. 

Taking on the bias

 Last week, I made a couple of sports related miscalculations:

1) I thought that lack of progress in bouldering  after a year of lock down could easily be rectified in one brief coached session.  

    I could not walk properly the following day.... I will not go into detail, but let's just say glutes are a pain in the backside. 

2) That same following day happened to be one of the the hottest days of the year so far.  Therefore, I concluded that it would be the perfect opportunity to take my sore glutes on a bike ride.  One which involved the only uphill route in all of East Anglia. (It was only to town and back.  But Bishop's Hill...)

    I don't think I need to explain my feelings about my life choices that afternoon. 

To relieve myself from all this self inflicted suffering, I decided to treat myself to my penultimate blogging letter:  Ladies and Gentlemen, I skived football and went to "L"awn bowls instead.

A few weeks prior I had spotted a little poster in Holywells Park, advertising open sessions every Tuesday in the summer It had been a long, hot, sore day and I simply forgot to worry about joining a group of people I had never met before to try something I didn't have a clue about.  (I also forgot that the park is totally within cycling- and walking distance and took the car.  I know.  It was a low point.)

Holywells Park Bowling Green.  Lush!

And I am so glad I didn't worry about it, because I was met by the friendliest group of people.  Brian, the club's coach, was away on holiday, but Liz and her husband Tony took me under their wings and showed me the ropes... well... balls.  Woods, I mean.  You know, bowls. Tony patiently showed me how to place the matt and the jack, and then coached me one-to-one for nearly on hour to help me get used to the bowls bias, explaining how to use fore- and backhand to my advantage. 

The matt, the jack, and the size 0 bowls I got to play with

Liz would kindly help me out each time I had to judge whether something was in a straight line because my eye-brain communication when it comes to straightness of lines is... well... watch my parking. Paul, who runs the Tuesday afternoon sessions, helped me from the side-lines with my footwork, and all in all, between the four of us, I managed to actually get a bowl to touch the jack.  I know!

I also managed to get quite a few into a ditch, so let's not get ahead of ourselves here. 

Whilst the game might look gentle from the outside, I did start to feel the weight of the bowl and was glad to be offered a pew and a nice cuppa by Paul and Liz whilst we watched Sue win a competitive game on the far side of the green.  We chatted about the benefits of playing bowls, and everyone agreed that what they liked most about bowls - aside from the actual exercise - was the social side of things. There are separate men's and women's competitions, but there are also mixed ones and I can't think of any other sports that - whilst still fiercely competitive - are so inclusive of all different age groups.  Brian, the absent coach, had told me on the phone that he works with the local primary school to encourage children into the game and that they often have open events to encourage people to give it a go.

Tony showing me how it's done

So if William Shakespeare liked it so much, might it be worth you giving it a go?

- I of course can't speak for all clubs, but if you are looking to meet a group of the nicest people, I'd suggest you get yourself there

- If - like me - you dread the idea of joining a class or a group where everyone is miles ahead of you and you have to breathlessly admit defeat, you do not have to worry about that here. This game is about skill, planning and precision.

- If you are competitive, I think this would be the perfect sport for you.  Because I had my own personalised training session, I didn't fully grasp how competitive this sport is.  Only during our chat at the end did I realised how many competitions there are, at all different levels, in different places...I think if you join a club, you will most certainly be kept busy. 

- The club kindly let me borrow equipment for the sessions, so I don't know how much stuff costs - it did look like most people have their own kit, which makes sense seen as you would want to play with correct size bowls for your hands.

- This particular club charges a membership fee of £40 a year plus £2 per competition.  In return you get a key to the clubhouse, a parking permit and access to the beautiful green.  If you play about 20 weeks a year, that may still work out cheaper than many classes - and not many classes offer this particular view!

- If you don't want to commit just yet, but just have a little taste, Tuesday evenings from 6:15 as well as some Saturday afternoons from 2pm are drop in times (just past the stable building).  Or just give Brian a ring, he told me he'd love to hear from you (and gave permission to share his number: 07971 716 728).

So.  M to go.  

Sisters are doing it!

 When I started my ALPHABET OF SPORTS, there were certain letters I never even fretted about.  T was always going to be Trampolining because that was the only physical activity I had something akin to real life experience of.  And F was always, always going to be Football.  It's not like there was an alternative (except fencing.  And figure skating. Fox hunting, field hockey, fishing... but let's be honest, it was always going to be football.)

Then why did I leave it so long?  Well, it is surprisingly difficult to find an opportunity to play if you are a terribly unfit middle aged two-left-feeted woman.  It wasn't for lack of trying; yes, I was that childfree woman queuing at the face painting stand at the family faire reaching out to primary school aged wannabe players in the hope of getting a contact.  For some reason, clubs were not too keen in having me "help" them with their training.  One of the very few replies I received to my enquiries was an offer from a local sports ground that I could use their field to have a kick about with friends.

A KICK ABOUT WITH FRIENDS?  What did they think I was after?  FUN?  Without some kind of organiser there to tell me the rules and make me feel terrible about my terribleness? 

Due to the obvious ridiculousness of the offer, I kindly turned it down.

Luckily for me, and for many other women, SuperLady Kathryn has a braver heart than me.  She went forth and did the exact opposite by putting out a shout out on Facebook:  Are there any women in the Felixstowe area who would join me for a kick about?

I've been lucky to join her on week 2 of her adventure - and she's already gone up in the world: where we played today, there were permanent goal posts and we had bibs.  Who knows, maybe by next week she'll own a whistle?

As always, I was quite nervous: new people, a new place, my breathing had been suboptimal over the past few weeks, and the sheer thought of accelerated movement... my tummy was churning.  The thing that gave me a bit of confidence this time was that I knew quite a few of the Ladies already from work, and the fact that it was quite a new group. I was all the more impressed by the bravery of those who turned up without knowing anyone else there.  

Any remaining nerves went out of the window when the question "could you please explain the rules, I don't really know them" was answered with loudly blown raspberries. 

After a brief giggly warm up (which explained the comments about Tena Ladies), we were off.  By "off" I mean - we literally ran after the ball, some people sometimes kicked it, and sometimes it went into a goal. 

It primarily went into the goal I was meant to keep.  I think that today, we learnt the lesson of never putting your worst player in the goal.

Don't get me wrong:  There were brilliant players who always seemed to get the ball where they intended it to go, who were in the right place at the right time, and who used professional lingo like "corner".  But the atmosphere was so relaxed that it really didn't matter that I wasn't one of them. It truly was a kick about it in the park with friends - is there a more fun way of getting out of breath, increasing your heart rate and getting your steps in? 

Are you thinking of going along?  Give me a shout and I'll put you in touch with the legend that is Kathryn - and have a look at my top tips:

- Good trainers.  The ground was slippery, and some mighty players fell today.

 - Wear layers, like a zip-up hoodie or something... you'll get warm very quickly, and cool down just as fast when you stop. 

- Most definitely bring a bottle of water

- It's free.. for now.  But we are thinking of joining like a league where it would never matter if we won or lost and where we would make lots of money for our owners from TV deals and stuff... We know the fans would be disappointed but...

- Don't be afraid of getting involved - just go for it.  

- In the words of Kathryn's son Freddy, who had the dubious pleasure of practicing with his team on the field next to ours: "Just be happy and try your best".  

Pretty sound advice from a young boy who just had to put up with our squeaking, giggling, and falling over for an hour. 

(P.S:  Still looking to fill letters L and M.... and I don't think I'd survive lacrosse... still grateful for any hints so we can finish this sporty torture :-D)

Playing by the rules

 When I first attempted finding a sport for each letter of the alphabet, the suggestion that came over and over was for the letter N: Netball, obviously!

I'd always smile and nod, as if I knew precisely what they meant by "Netball" - as someone who'd grown up in a Non-Commonwealth country, I had never heard of it. 

I did heed the advice and look into playing Netball; unfortunately, like with other popular team sports that I had enquired about, the answer I received back was that I would be welcome to observe only.  And whilst I am very good at watching other people playing sports, that would have defeated the object.

Nordic skiing being the only other "N" sport  I could come up with, I started to think that "N" might just be the letter that I would not get to cover...

That was until Morgan casually mentioned that she plays Netball...and even better: WALKING NETBALL! Delighted about the invitation, I of course agreed immediately and already loved everything about this sport before I even turned up on the court. 

(Things I immediately loved about Walking Netball: NO RUNNING).

So here is what I thought would happen:  We would mainly be standing around, occasionally walk around a bit and sometimes pass a ball. And I would be very excellent at all these steps.

What actually happened was this: THEY WALK REALLY REALLY FAST!  I couldn't keep up.

But let me start from the beginning:  Seen as this would be the first time meeting a new group of people for over a year due to COVID, I felt incredibly nervous. Luckily, Morgan was there, and it reminded me once again how much easier it is to try something new when you're not on your own.  If you don't have a friend who drags you along to sporty things, but you'd like to give something a go, do give me a shout.  I've been making other people look good at sports since 1983. 

My nerves were completely unnecessary: Everyone was warm and welcoming - and clearly rearing to go.

The session started with a warm up which involved walking, stretching, passing and catching.  We also had to practice communicating with each other, which meant that I got to learn everyone's names very quickly and felt part of the team straight away.  There wasn't really much chance of hiding in the back row I'm afraid. 

After a brief drill which involved knowing where your right is (trust me, it's not as easy as it sounds - not when you have to walk AND think!) we started the game. 

So here is one key thing I learnt about Netball: There are many, many rules. And I probably broke most of them (except the one about no running.  I'm good at that).  You are only allowed in certain parts of the court, depending on the position you play.  You're not allowed to jump, have to keep 4 ft (in times of COVID) distance from the person you're marking and I'm sure there was something about pivoting when holding the ball...

What really stood out to me though was the way everyone celebrated and applauded when a point was scored - for either team.  Even though the game was competitive and everyone worked hard, it was clear that the players were also having a good time.  Encouragements and passes flew freely. 

After a brief warm down I had the opportunity to speak to some of the players, and that point was made over and over:  I feel really welcome here.  Many mentioned having made friends within the team, and the social occasions such as Christmas meals were spoken of warmly. One Lady mentioned that she liked the way the different positions in the game allowed for different physical abilities, and catching up with the coach later, that was clearly one of the strengths of this sport. Someone pointed out that walking Netball in particular allowed her to keep physically fit in a fun way despite having had to slow down over the years. (Note:  She did not appear to me like someone who had slowed down. She was flippin' fast!)

So what should you do if you want to give walking Netball a go?

1) Find a club near you: https://www.englandnetball.co.uk/play/walking-netball/

2) Wear comfortable clothes and a pair of good trainers.  

3) Definitely take a bottle of water

4) If you want to feel well prepared, maybe have a look at the (many) rules - but I felt that once we got going, things made a lot more sense, so I wouldn't worry too much. 

5) Whilst the sport is designed for all fitness levels (phew), it is physically demanding.  So if a year of lock down sofa-warming has done some damage, it might be worth going for a few strolls; one Lady suggested walking at varying speeds to get the heart rate going. Practicing throwing and catching a ball against a wall may also be helpful if it has been a few years since you last engaged in a ball sport. And stretching exercises - such as Yoga or Pilates - always seem to have a positive effect.

6) Consider the finances: The local team are coached for £4 a session.

And what happened next?  I picked up the best husband and we went climbing because WE FINALLY COULD!

You can take the girl from the mountain...

I remember being about 10 years old, standing in line with my fellow ski-schoolers, listening to the instructor going on about some technique or other.  At the edge of the piste were a group of older teenagers, smoking, chatting, and most shockingly, sitting on their bottoms in the snow!  

"Snowboarders", our instructor huffed.  "We're getting more of them each year.  They seem to spend more time sitting down and being in the way than practicing a proper sport."

For the next couple of years, I would enjoy silently tutting at the people who - as I had learnt from our instructor - were too preoccupied with following a fad to enjoy a proper snow sport.

However, when I hit 14, I noticed that the vast majority of my ski camp peers had exchanged the heavy boots and awkward sticks for the comfortable soft leather of boarding boots - and they didn't seem to mind getting cold backsides when comfortably sitting in the snow, waiting for me to catch up. 

20 years later I was determined to fill the gap in my winter sports education, so the best husband and I hired some boards and hit the slopes in Adelboden (thank you Crazy Sports for having made that possible at such short notice at the time!) 

Unfortunately, whilst Matthew got on really well and progressed quickly, my "hitting the slope" soon turned into "hitting the wall". I had heard that people who were confident skiers tended to pick up snowboarding fairly easily, and was confident that my teenage skills were good enough to overcome the two decades of absence from snow and sports. Surprisingly, I was wrong. 

I had been warned that it might be hard work -  I just hadn't expected it all to be quite as tough as that! By the time our morning passes had expired, I had decided that snowboarding really was a fad at best, not worth investing in, and that the day was better enjoyed standing upright.

Adelboden (Engstligenalp) on foot

However, if you have read my blog before, you will probably have come across my approach to physical activity:  I try it, it's hard, I decide it's probably not for me.  The lock down has not only inspired a heart breaking nostalgia for Switzerland, but also forced me to reconsider how easily I had given up on things I had really wanted in the past, just because they were hard to get. 

And so, for my second lockdown Birthday, the best husband booked a lesson at Suffolk Leisure Park.  Perhaps because this time I was properly prepared for it to be hard work and tiring, and maybe because I didn't expect to make it to the bottom without landing on my knee pads, I had a really good time! After a short warm up and stretch, we hauled our boards up the short, steep incline. Initially, we slowly skidded down backwards, holding on to the the steady arms of the instructor, practicing only to slide and desperately tying to look relaxed. Much like a dance teacher, he must have gotten bored of uttering "look at me, don't look at your feet, relax your shoulders, no, look up, not at your feet, relax...". When he slowly prized my clinging fingers from his forearm, I had to focus so hard on not bursting into fearful tears that I can't really recall how I made down - but make it I did! There even was some zig-zagging action... but exactly how that happened I'm not sure.

 

Are you considering giving snowboarding (or brush-boarding, if in Ipswich) a go? If - like me - sports is not your middle name, here are my thoughts:

- Decide why you want to do it.  If you would like to have a one-off fun-time with friends, maybe go for tobogganing. Snowboarding will probably be very little fun for at least the first half hour.

- If you are considering trying it to see if it might be a regular thing to do, be prepared to find your first lesson hard work.  Whilst the boots are more comfortable than the skiing ones, I still felt that my feet were pressed into an awkward shape, my legs were pushed apart by the binding and my thighs burned from the near-constant squat position.  As we started on the beginner slope (phew!), our lesson also included a fair amount of bending down to clip in and unclip the binding and carrying the board back up to the top.  We definitely experienced a good amount of cardio and muscle work.

- Our very helpful and patient instructor recommended doing Yoga - he felt that the balance and flexibility he had developed allowed him to be confident on the board. 

- It might just be me, but I feel that I have the most fun when I start off by assuming that I'll be very terrible and won't make any progress ever.   

- Wear gloves. Whatever else you take from this, wear gloves.  Just... trust me. 

Will I do it again? I guess this is at least in part a financial question.  Lessons aren't cheap, and I would need a good few more before being able to fully enjoy it. Even once I am Olympic material, it's not like running, where I just chuck on some trainers. On the other hand, once I started to feel that I was getting the hang of it, I did really enjoy it... maybe I'll try skiing next, just to see if my mad 1995 skills are still alive in there somewhere. 

Me jogging: making real runners look good since 2020

Just over a year ago, I went for a fateful run, which lead me to write this blog post. At the time, I challenged myself to work myself through an alphabet of sporty activities.

Reading back over it, I was struck by three thoughts:

1) How clever would I look if I went back into that original post and amended it with my insights on global pandemics?

2) Could there be a way that I could combine the letters F, J, L, M and N into one short, pain- and sweat-free session? (Suggestions are always welcome)

and

3) How can I STILL be so crap at running?

I mean, since that post I have almost worked my way through the alphabet of sports, including joining with the fantastic people of https://www.goodgym.org/ (read about it here) and miserably failing at an obstacle run (which I kept very brief here).

I had kind of hoped that a year of blogging would improve my fitness.  By improve, I mean that by now I should at least be on an Olympic team. Granted, I could not have predicted the events of the past year; and there is a chance that not doing any exercise for a large junk of that time may have affected my chances of a gold medal.

But my little head voice repeatedly and annoyingly complained that it's really no good attempting any activity only once, before deciding that I'm no good at it an shelving it forever. Maybe, just maybe, I should give that "sticking with" malarkey a go. 

Inspired by Simon and Yvette (the in-laws), and after having heard so many good things about the app from friends and colleagues, I decided to give the C25K APP a go.  I could not possibly let Boris' daily allowance for  lock-down outdoor exercise go to waste.

I had previously attempted it, and gave up very quickly.  Looking back, I may have made a couple of beginners mistakes.  For some reason, I arrogantly decided that I didn't need to start on week one. (I mean, why?  What train of thought lead me to the conclusion that - being particularly useless at any kind of physical activity - I should set myself a higher bar than people who are clearly much fitter than me?) The other mistake I made was to get all the gear, before I had any idea.  One of the items I bought was a set of  earphones so that I could listen to the app.  I since learnt that I hate earphones, and I cannot stand having anything near my ears when running. 

So this time round, I made sure to learn my lessons. Obviously, I started with run one of week one.  And I also decided not to use the app whilst running.  Instead, I used a timer app, that would simply beep when the running- or walking-session was over.  I felt so much more comfortable with that. That had of course to change in week four, when the run- and walk intervals vary throughout the session, but by that point I had developed my own strategies on running and dealing with everything else that the encouraging chatter no longer threw me off.

If you know me, I will most probably  have told you (again and again) about how much I hate running, and how embarrassed I get about being seen running in public.  By running, I really mean "in motion". Luckily, I've developed a sleeping pattern that sees me wake up at 4.30 most mornings; this allows me to pop out when the only other people around are not yet awake enough to see me.  It also means on hot days that it's still nice and chilly, which makes it so much easier for me.  I guess I'm good at sports as long as I don't feel sweaty, or tired, or challenged.

Surprisingly, I didn't only give it a go - I stuck with it and I finished the nine weeks programme that builds up your running from 1 minute at a time, to running for thirty minutes without stopping.

My worst moments?

- The night before run 1 week 3:  For this run, you increase your running intervals from 90 seconds to three minutes. For some reason, the idea of running for 3 minutes without a break completely overwhelmed me.  I could not sleep.  I found myself at 2am, staring at my phone timer, trying to get my head around just how slowly the seconds went by.  The next morning I overslept and decided to give up on the programme and that it was stupid, anyway. 

The following morning I woke up at my usual dawn time, and run the 3 minute intervals without problems. And whilst I dreaded each new week with its extended intervals, I never worried about it quite as much.

- When someone spoke to me: My earlier runs fell into the days where lock-down was at its strictest.  The very few people I saw when out running would join in my silent vow of giving the biggest possible berth to any humans within a mile radius.  If I saw someone at the far end of the street, i'd cross over before I got close enough to make out if they were a person or a muntjack.  If someone suddenly appeared on the path ahead of me, I would daringly step into the road without checking, because being mowed down would be preferable than to share a pavement with another person.  And my pulse would race if the other party did not make an equal effort in avoiding me.

So that one morning when a dog walker - originally on the other side of the road - crossed over so that she would just pass in front of me, my outrage at such risky behaviour nearly made me miss the beep emanating from my phone.  I gave her me best "I will say with my eyes what I am too polite to utter in words" glare, to which she smiled and said "good morning."

Reckless behaviour. Absolutely outrages.

- The times I ran the day after a core workout.  Let me make one thing very clear:  When I say "workout", I mean I had to sit up on the sofa to reach for the remote. I never felt that the workouts particularly had any long term consequences. But when running, I felt every single one of my well hidden six packs.  Let's just say that it didn't happen very often.

My best moments?

- When- after completing week four - I googled "what is the hardest week of C25K and someone said week 4.  I didn't read the full article, just closed the browser in the knowledge that I was a winner already.

- When I ran the 28 minutes in week 8, and felt that I could speed up (marginally) for the final minute.  I felt like high-fiving someone - I obviously didn't, I'm no maniac.

- When it was pouring with rain on the morning of what was meant to be my final run.  I went back to bed. I fell back asleep.  It was good.

- The 47 hours of peace between each run.

- And of course, when I finished c25k. But... I feel I worked quite hard for this, and I really don't want to lose it.  So I'm now looking for different ways of somehow keeping it up. 

Let's see how that goes.

But for today, I'll just celebrate the fact that my phone screen thinks I'm amazing.

YOBO: You only breathe once

Usually, 9pm on a wet, cold, dark November night does not find me awake. Like most people of sound mind, I would be wrapped up warmly in think blankets, dreaming that the approaching early morning alarm would be cancelled by a snow day.

But as it is getting ever harder to find suitable sports for my blog - sports which involve no effort, inconvenience, and ideally involve watching TV - I had to learn that beggars can't be choosers.  And so when Ken from the Ipswich Octopush Club explained that training would be on Monday, 09:15 - 10:15pm at Crown Pool, I simply had to bite the bullet. After all, how many other sports could compete with underwater hockey on my alphabet of sports?

My best husband was his usual supportive self when I asked him to drop me off at the pool to avoid the 10 step walk from the car park to the front door. Inside, I was warmly greeted by Nathan, who kindly denied that he'd recognised me by the "deer in the headlights" expression I was sporting for the occasion. 

Minutes later I found myself sitting shivering by the poolside, realising that this time I might truly have outdone my own extemporaneousness (I googled that). I did know that it would involve water, hockey and fins. 

But at no point did anybody warn me that it would involve this type of hat:

THAT is the face of one who has just realised that she truly has no clue of what is about to happen.  Also one who should have guessed that underwater hockey might involve, well under water. Up to that point, I assumed that we'd all be swimming around in our fins with long sticks to push along a puck in the shallow pool. 

(It is also the face of one who just realised that she might be the only female... luckily, another Lady turned up to defend the hockey - honour of womankind, because I truly let you all down, sisters).

Luckily, all the guys were true gentlemen - otherwise, having my head squashed into this latest fashion accessory, my nose squeezed into a pair of googles, elastics pulled over my forehead and hairs shoved back into the hat by damp strangers in very little clothing might have been weird. 

As it stands however, the only truly questionable event was to be asked to repeatedly spit into my goggles to avoid them from steaming up. If you spend most of your working time explaining to grumpy teens that they shouldn't spit, it is slightly surreal to gather enough fluid to wipe your eye-windscreens under the watchful eye of octopushing veterans.

As with all my sporting adventures, I could not have been luckier to be surrounded by the loveliest of people. Not only did Nathan make sure that I could borrow all the necessary equipment, but both Charlie and Fritz took time out from the actual game to coach me.  

After a lesson of how to put on your mask and use both legs for paddling (otherwise you end up swimming in a circle.  Top tip.  Remember it.), I was ready to snorkel the width of the pool.  That bit, I really enjoyed.

Once I mastered the art of not drowning, it went crazy:  I was instructed to dive down to the bottom of the pool. I did vaguely hear the instruction to hold my breath, but somehow managed to forget that.  If you are ever instructed to hold your breath, please do so.  Swallowing "end of the day" pool water was not pleasant.  Even worse as with my fancy goggles I could see the kind of stuff that lives on the pool bed. Y.U.K.

With all my volunteer coaches being required for the game at one stage, I was left with clear instructions to practice further at my own pace.  Dive with a stick, dive and use the stick to push the puck (but don't touch the puck, that would be a foul), dive and use the stick to flick the puck.  I was fine with all of that - but not whilst simultaneously remembering not to breathe.  Much water had been absorbed.

I also had the opportunity to underwater-hover and watch parts of the game.  As with any hockey based game, players use a stick (approx 10cm long) to propel a puck of about 1.5 kg towards the opposite team's 3m wide aluminium or steel goal. Whilst it all looks rather frantic, I would say it definitely looks more graceful than ice- or uni hockey. But in the playing frenzy it can happen that a player gets hit on the hand by a pusher or that hands get scraped on the grouting of the pool tiles.  So players wear a a rubber glove for protection.

Chatting to a number of players, there appeared to be one unanimous view of the sport:  It's fun, it's good exercise, it's very sociable (I was invited to got to the pub afterwards.  On a school night.  After 10pm.  Crazyness!).  

So should you push yourself (mwhahahahah) to try underwater hockey?

1. Errr yah! It really was good fun, and good exercise, and time just flew by so much quicker than if you have to swim length after length.

2. If you want to be fully equipped, you'll need a good quality & good coverage swimsuit, fins, mask, snorkel, glove, pusher.... maybe borrow the equipment for your first go. 

3.  If you do want to have a good first go, I'd recommend becoming a confident snorkeler first.  I didn't get the chance to join the game because I simply wouldn't have managed to join in and stay alive, and I definitely wish that I had practised that first to make the most of my first go.

4. There were players of all sizes, shapes, and ages - and training was after pool opening hours, making the whole swimsuit business slightly more bearable.

5. Whilst it did at times look like unorganised chaos, I was assured that there are clear rules and strategies.  The teams consist of of 6 players each plus substitutes, and each player has a position to hold. 

6.  Unfortunately, due to it mainly being underwater, it's not a particularly spectator friendly sport - but I have checked it out on youtube after the deed,so if you are interested, look it up.  Or, you know, just turn up clueless, you'll survive. 

Homage to my travelling companions

A great number of years ago, my then-job largely involved trying to explain to customers on the other side of the world that they would in fact have to actually pay for the goods they had ordered.  In French. Oui. 

One of my lasting memories was attending an assertiveness training course, during which I learnt that one could come across more assertive when speaking on the phone standing up.  At the time, getting out of my seat for heated discussions about credit extensions whilst desperately flicking through the Business French Dictionary was pretty much my only form of exercise.

Whilst my desk neighbour Amy enjoyed my wild gesticulating against the receiver, I felt I very much had my own back when laughing at her account of trying to ride a bike after years of abandoning it in the garage.  Her story of getting out of breath and aching legs the next day assured me that this would be her one and only escapade into the world of sports. Surely it wouldn't be long until we next overate on pizza to the point of feeling sick, only to suddenly feel revived at the thought of chocolate ice cream?

I couldn't have been more wrong.  Instead of giving up after one attempt, like I would have done, Amy started an entire programme of getting her fitness levels up.  Not long after that, she started blogging as a "This girl can" ambassador... you can read more about it here.

There are many things that I admire about Amy, but the thing that is most inspiring to me is that she was bad at stuff - but kept going.  She went running, and would tell me about it the next day, laughing at how much she struggled to get to the end of her road. She would drag me along to stuff like bounce classes (I alluded to them here), and tell me that it was really hard but that I should definitely try it.

I don't mean to say that she was particularly bad at sports (maybe I should just stop digging...), I guess it was just news to me that people weren't either really sporty, or really not.  Amy showed me that - by sticking with something - you can become good at it. Nowadays, I'm not sure if I'm more inspired by the fact that she has her own personal gym in her garden, or that she cycles to work through crazy London streets.  Not because it was easy and just "kind of happened", but because she just kept going with something she wanted to do, until it was her new normal.

In a similar way, I have been inspired by my husband.  Despite not being keen on heights, he did agree to accompany me to the climbing hall for this blog post.  I'll be honest, I was surprised - I know he usually allows my crazy, mountain climbing, high tower scaling family to drag him along to lofty heights outside his comfort zone. But I didn't expect him to agree willingly to scramble up fake boulders, just so that I can write about it.  The fact that he has now bought his second loyalty pass (and the shoes... and the chalk bag... and watches ALL the YouTube videos...) belies his discomfort.  However, rather than letting that stop him, he has decided to just keep going with it.

And there are many, many more such stories, of the friends who did Couch to 5k after nightfall so that they couldn't been seen struggling along the road, to those who volunteer at sporting events despite injuries to keep a foot in the door.  Those who struggle at the back of the group / class / room, but don't give up after one tough session that might have left them believing it was just beyond them. 

I'm not quite that brave.  I had known for a long a time that things had to change, but I was simply too embarrassed to actually do something about it.  Going to the gym, seeing myself in a mirror, knowing that other people could see me being bad at stuff?  Why would I do that to myself? And so, to the rescue, as always, came the TV.

That's right - on the days when I simply could (and can) not deal with the embarrassment of being me, I'd YouTube exercise clips.  Ideally with the big curtains closed, when Matthew is out, and only choosing the videos with titles such as "super easy for the unfittest beginners EVER with no actual work involved". But I do them. (Since the embarrassing /  uncomfortable carpet burn experience, I do also use a mat, thank you for asking.)

After a while I realised that I needed something slightly more progressive to ensure that I keep pushing myself, and I downloaded an App that would encourage me to spend a few minutes daily getting sweaty.

My first attempt was the "7 minute workout App".  That worked quite well for me initially, but the difficulty levels increased steeply and I lost interest when I had to skip most exercises because they were beyond me.  I have since changed to the "Female Fitness" App - this too is getting more challenging as time progresses, but at a rate that I can keep up with.  Both Apps rely on body weight exercises such as crunches, squats, jumping jacks... Initially I used to put them on as soon as I got in from work, but I found that all too often I had an excuse.  It was later than expected, I should really pop to the shop for dinner, I just want to put on my pjs... I realised that - if I wanted to stick with it - I'd have to create a routine that would enable me.  For me, this now means getting up 20 minutes earlier in the morning.  In return I feel justified to be in bed by 9pm. Win!

Are there any benefits to exercising at home?

1. Massively! The main one for me is that it removes my key barriers - shame & embarrassment. 

2.It's free...

3. It's the most flexible thing to do - no matter the time, weather, what you're wearing... and you can be super creative with it.  We've bought some weights and a jumping rope, so that those minutes wasted staring at the boiling kettle can be used to get our heart rate up. Running up the stairs, doing squats when brushing my teeth, planks during adverts (well.. one advert) - small things that don't impact on your day, and no-one needs to know. 

4. There is an unlimited variety of intensity levels on offer, as well as a broad range of types of exercises.  Want to focus on your arms, or is developing your core the goal?  There will be something tailor-made for you online.  Just look for it.  I have a vague recollection of practising Salsa steps guided by YouTube, there really are no limits.

5.  You're in control.  There are days where I simply can't complete the entire video.  So I just press pause, have a drink, give myself a talking to... all without anyone else having to get involved and possibly judging me. 

6. For me, this was a stepping stone.  Sure, I still use the app and there are still weeks where working out at home is the only thing I do.  But to me, knowing that I was able to complete a 20 minute video, has helped me to have confidence to attempt a lesson.  More than just building my resilience and strength, working out at home has build my courage to exercise in ways and places where people could see me.  I still don't like it - but I know I can do it. 

Taking more chances by dancing more dances

"Are you here for the tap dancing?" I shouted through the pouring rain at the Lady who was very clearly not dressed for dancing.

Awkwardly squeezing out of my car in the tight car park, I realised that shouting random stuff at strangers in abandoned primary schools was not the done thing.  I put on my best winning smile, which I'm sure really put her at ease.

"I don't think so - I'm here for the PTA Meeting", the Lady replied, rushing determinedly towards the front door.  I followed her in the least creepy way possible when wearing leggings and brogues.   Once inside, I found my way through the PTA meeting to the sports hall -  the large, empty, dark sports hall with definitely no tapping or dancing happening.

Sitting on a bench, I debated how long I'd have to wait until I could legitimately write a blog about trying my very best to dance, and how it this clearly had been prevent by a power completely out of my control. 

I also made sure to use my time wisely; evidence that I was there.

Just as I started to think that it would be socially acceptable to leave, Chantell arrived.  Laden with a massive speaker, a number of mats and a huge bag, I have a slight suspicion that she did not expect to see me sitting there in the dark.  Why would she - unlike with all my other sporty adventures, I had not contacted her in advance, but just follow a recommendation  and a quick google search.

Her slight look of panic when I explained that I just wanted to join in (no, I have no previous experience.  Ballet? Err, no, never. No, really, I can't dance...) gave me a clue that perhaps I should have let her know that I was panning to randomly turn up on this rainy Monday.  The group had been working on a dance routine, which I had no chance of picking up. As one by one the Ladies of the group arrived, I became more and more at peace with the idea of sitting down and watching the pros. Let's face it, I'm always at peace with the idea of sitting down.

Chantell however had other ideas. "We'll work on technique instead, it will do us all good", she declared.  Technique sounds very much like squats to me.  I felt like the kid who hadn't done her homework, which lead to the entire class having to stay behind at break. But I was completely wrong - Chantell magically wove technique work into creating a brand new routine that I was able to follow. To a background of Eliza Doolittle, what's not to love?

After a while it became clear that my work shoes were really not at all suitable, and I thought the moment had finally come where I'd be ask to sit out and let the pros do their work.  (Also, I was really ready for a break). But nope, still no sitting down for me.

What followed was an amusing interval of various Ladies swapping shoes with the only aim of finding one pair that might fit me.  May I use the opportunity to thank these amazing Ladies for their kindness.  On this journey through the alphabet of sports' I have encountered some of the kindest, funniest, most welcoming people.  But giving your very own, very personal dancing shoes to a sweaty paws like me, just so that I could join in and feel part of it.. thank you!

I had too much fun to think about taking pictures - this one was sneakily captured at the end.  I wish I could have captured the energy, the sound and the precision for you.

Of course, just putting on a Cinderella slipper did not make me Fred Astaire, but neither did I fall over my own feet.  Naturally I messed up all the steps and forgot to count and couldn't shuffle with my left leg (or any leg, for that matter). BUT I wasn't absolutely terribly the worst person ever.  And I don't say that very often.

This was largely due to the time the Ladies took to make sure I had the chance to learn the steps properly.  Sometimes (always), that involved going over the same bit again and again, and breaking down elaborate sequences into bite-size steps. 

So should you dance your way back into exercise?

1. Absolutely yes!  But maybe check if the lesson is suitable for beginners, or at least pre-warn them of your intentions.

2. Be prepared to sweat.  Buckets.  I was prepared to find it hard, to feel awkward, to not get it, fall over... I was not prepared to struggle for breath and perspire quite as much.

3. Wear comfortable clothing - I guess that goes without saying.  Oh, and if your dance of choice is tap, don't believe google when he says that Brogues will do for beginners.  They will not. 

4.  Compared to other classes I have tried, it had been more difficult to find a class I could just pop along - on the other hand, dancing is really such a wide open field that I'm sure there'd be a style (and nearby class) for everyone.

5. Like with a lot of the other activities I have given a go, it's clear hat you can't learn it in one lesson.  I guess the good thing about tap is that I can practice it at home, on my own, and build confidence before the next class. 

6.  Whilst of course physical activity was the key driver behind me attending this class, I also really enjoyed all the other aspects of dancing. The music, the rhythm, the "desperately trying to remember which step comes next", the counting, the fitting in with the group... I returned home physically and mentally tired from trying to take it all in.

Will there be a next class?  Well... I'm buying the shoes!  And if you wonder what my best husband has to say about the footwear expense, I'd just like to update you on his latest hobby.  Since he'd kindly come along to support me with climbing, he's bough the shoes, the chalk bag and the loyalty discount card. U-hu.

Rollin' with it

Over the last couple of weeks I've had to slow down the speed at which I have been whizzing (or shall we say, wheezing) through the alphabet. Taking part in Box Fit, X-Fit and an Obstacle run has highlighted that certain sports and I are not compatible - and whilst this is being further investigated through the medium of many needles (maaaany needles), I have been instructed to try and not injure myself over the next couple of weeks or so.

Cue sad music whilst I try to hide my glee about the fact that I am not avoiding going for a run, I am simply not allowed to... Times are tough, my friends, times are tough. 

I jest that physical activity has a detrimental effect on my health, but I'll be honest, it's been sub-optimal.

Enter stage left my best husband, who for some reason has not entirely enjoyed my phase of watching repeat episodes of Midsummer Murders with a face full of woe.  In a brave attempt to cheer me up, he highlighted how well I had done in sticking with the blog. So I had to begrudgingly admit that I was still missing 8 letters.  One of them of course my arch nemesis: Q.

And so the thorough research began.  I say thorough - there aren't that many sports to research.  Once we'd established that there is definitely no known Quidditch team within easy reach, the prohibitive cost of half an hour on a quad bike and that the website for the East Anglian Quoits Association is a couple of centuries out of date, we were left with only one plan of action: Quads.

(Or Roller Skates - but that doesn't work for the blog, so we'll keep calling them quads.) 

 We chose what is likely to be the last warm and sunny day of 2019 to drive to Colchester, where for just under £13 per person you can gain access to the rink, hire a pair of retro quads and receive an informative leaflet:

The place reminded me of a bowling alley - perhaps it's the eau - de - sweaty - shoes? 

This might be the time where I'll have to admit that my last attempt in skating is not quite as long ago as decency would have you think.  Of course I was about 10 when I was last told off by my mum for trying to skate downhill through the village to school, rather than walking at a safe pace past the farms.  (All the other kids were allowed to skate... some even had bikes.  Just saying.)

But it will come as a surprise to everybody, including my then-housemate sister, that I did in fact own a pair of white Britney Spears endorsed roller skates in 2003.  At the age of 20, in Business School.  

The reason no-one knew about this is because - despite my deep conviction that I'd make it big in the skating world - I suspected that some people might find it slightly amusing.  And so I hid the skates in the wardrobe.  Once the roads (and my sister) surrendered to the quiet of the night, I'd sneak out and made best possible use of the car-park of the printing business nearby.  I even mastered pirouettes.

All these memories came flooding back as I gingerly approached the smooth wooden surface of the rink.  I expected to find myself sitting down within the first few minutes, but I do think my clandestine practising all these moons ago yielded results.  I soon found myself swishing round and round the oval rink, deftly avoiding toddlers hanging on to the rail.

You may think that spending over an hour just drifting around the same rink might be boring, and it might be if it was not for the on-task resident DJ.  Emotional highlights included "I want it that way" (I did just about stop myself from performing the dance routine I'd learnt in secondary school, although I think it would have looked better on skates), a sudden change skating of direction (I know! The crowd loved it!) and of course, regular use of the smoke machine.  There were even some flashing lights, which lead some sugar-hyped-up 10 year - olds to ignore the instruction to keep to a sensible speed.

My best husband who probably secretly doesn't really care about the blog but really wanted to go skating.

I'll not pretend that I have any idea about the physical benefits of roller skating - I'm sure they are manifold if you do it regularly, and I saw some amazing jumps and trick performed by people who clearly didn't practice under the light of a fading street light. I know that this won't be something that I'd take up as a regular sport.  But it was great fun, and another reminder that being physically active does not have to include squats, just as much as having a fun day does not have to involve a screen.

However, just because I like bullet points, there are a couple of things worth listing:

- I was amazed at the resilience of the children.  No matter how slow the progress, the number of tears and pain of the fall, they all got up again and kept going.  Round and round and fall and up and round and fall and hold and up... It made me wonder: At what age do we start giving up?

- There were some real lessons in kindness on the rink.  Chatting to a Lady who was there with her older Teenage daughter, she explained that it was the girl's second attempt. Struggling with her weight, the daughter wanted to try out an exercise that she could do on her own, at her own speed.  The Lady pointed at the tall girl at the opposite side of the rink, hanging on to the rail, painfully moving one foot in front of the other. How brave, to keep going when it's hard, when everyone around you is younger and faster and makes you feel like you're in the way.  And how lovely, for the mum on the sideline watching on.  "I'm just here to support.  I just help her on and off the rink, but she wants to try on her own."  You go, nameless mum and daughter team.

- Of course there were a number of parents holding their children's hands to stop them from falling (or, less successfully, crashing into people).  But there were a number of sets of young adults, a young couple for instance or a set of girlfriends, where it was clear that one was teaching and guiding whilst the other one was faltering and hanging on for dear life.  More than in any other sport that I have witnessed so far have I seen the strongest ones pushing / pulling / supporting / guiding the beginners. And for me, that definitely out-cools the pink flashlights and the Backstreet Boys.

Tell me why...Ain't nothing but a heartache, Ain't nothing but a mistake, I never want to hear you say: I waaant it thaaat way!