one step forward, half a step back, and it's not the cha cha...

It was one of those days, the sort bestowed on us from time to time, lest we become too smug in thinking we are in control. A morning on the phone clarifying arrangements for an elderly relative leaving hospital, an anxiety-provoking meeting in the afternoon. Turning up forty five minutes late for coffee with a friend. Tasks achieved but a lot of rushing around, arriving at places which had just closed, trying to make calls from a public phone box (such an old-fashioned thing to do, but that doesn't excuse the fact that only about 1% of phone booths actually accept your money, and it's not much help that the 50 pence piece ends up where it should when the 10 pence piece is rejected time after time until you realise you're as capable of vandalism and other forms of violence as those you criticise for such behaviours), and not being able to get hold of people. Etc.

Yesterday I started a zumba dance class. Since joining the gym in March I've confined my use of it to swimming because the shell suit trousers I used to wear for striding away on the treadmill don't fit anymore and for some reason it's quite difficult finding ladies' shell suit trousers where I like to shop - until I discovered that men's sports trousers, the large ones, ones big enough to accommodate generous (what a euphemism) female hips, were a possibility.

So, there I was in the dance studio with an intimidating number of mirrors, ensuring I stood next to the only two other non-slim participants amongst a bunch of near-perfect female bodies. I was ready to engage with the music, determined to avoid viewing my reflection, in case what I saw made me collapse into a heap on the floor and start ripping surplus flesh from my body. The music began and, as I'd predicted, I seemed to be ten minutes behind everyone else as the instructor, a young woman weighing about 6 ounces, shimmied and wiggled and span around the platform.

And I thought: oh dear, I am so slow and bulky and unfit... Then I remembered my relative - formerly a good golfer and curler - now confined to a life of sitting or lying, more or less completely dependent on a group of carers... At least I can move. I can walk and cycle, I still have a blistering forehand on the tennis court even if moving around it is a last resort. I can swim breast stroke and backstroke. I can dance, elephantine or not, and sooner or later, if I continue exercising, I should release some weight. I am lucky.

Today's problems are what life is about. We have an idea of what we want to achieve but things get in the way. It reminds me of the saying: Life is what happens to you while you're busy making plans. So true.

Gratefully yours


Jane