Glutaeus maximus cactus

I have taken a little break from the strict exercise regime over the last few weeks. No good or worthwhile excuse, just needed some down time to be a lazy sod and blob around for a bit. However, am now back on "the wagon" (or running after it) and decided to get back into things last Sunday when a training buddy of mine asked if I would like to join her for a boxing circuit. I felt this could be a good way to ease back into things, so met her down on the local school oval. Her daughter, who is a personal trainer and gym instructor, was also there and offered to put us through our paces. Cool, I thought, a free PT session. Obvious not only had I lost some muscle conditioning when on my break, but my brain had shut down the memory centres that set off the alarm bells when a personal trainer offer to help you with your workout. Normally big neon signs start to flash, with warning sirens and a voice shouting "she is going to hurt you, get out NOW!!!!".

We started off with some running - my FAVOURITE - and then got into the boxing. I had the focus pads while Leanne punched the bejesus out of me for several rounds. In between each set, Leanne had to run around the oval and I had to do a squat and HOLD IT until she got back. Normally I am a very supportive training partner, enthusiastic and helpful, but by the time 2 minutes had ticked by I was shouting motivating messages like "move faster, you bugger" as it felt like my glutes were trying to set themselves on fire. The wobble that starts to happen as lactic acid buildup reaches the critical phase is also not something that allows you to focus on the positives you are getting from exercising. When she got back I straightened up to do my running and promptly staggered in a zig zag pattern for about 100 meters, bent over at about the 45 degree mark. Hard to move oxygen around efficiently with that kind of posture. I'd like to add that some very fit and healthy young men were playing soccer down the other end of the oval and were observing my efforts with thinly veiled hilarity. I silently wished beer guts, bad knees and them catching their own pubic hair in their jocks whenever they exercised on them as they made "nice running style, love" comments as I trotted past.

So, a fun filled 45 minutes later, I got back into my car and drove home, feeling virtuous about my return to exercise. This self important gloating lasted until I parked in our driveway and tried to get out of the driver's seat, where I realised I had broken my bottom and more than likely would have to spend the next few days in the car whilst I recovered. I managed to lever myself out using the steering wheel and window winder, but found that I was still somewhat stuck in a semi sitting position as I tried to walk inside. Things have improved over the last few days and I am now hardly making any of those involuntary noises I've blogged about before when I sit down or stand up. What a glorious return to the land of the moderately fit and healthy!