I think I am coming out of my post-friend induced homesickness. It has been helped greatly by Marie's stated intention to come to Uganda again (here it is, M, a gentle reminder) and the reappearance in Kampala of Little Warthog after her long holiday.
In celebration of her return, Her Wartiness rejected my offer of a jog, and suggested Pilates instead. I agreed, thinking 'it is good to try new things.' That is how I found myself in one of Kampala's smarter cafes last Tuesday, full of enthusiasm and dressed appropriately.
The instructor introduced herself with "Sorry! I am French!". No need to apologise. Then she added, startlingly, "I also 'ave very bad language!". I think what she meant was ' my English is not very good'. (Her English was excellent.)
As it turns out, Pilates is sado-masochistic, humiliating agony. It is also quite similar to ante-natal class: women manipulating plastic balls on mats on the floor, practising loud exhalation. ("SSSSSHHHHHHH.") I couldn't find it in my heart to hate Paschale, the nice instructor, who is obviously an ex-dancer or gymnast and can't help being flexible, but I had federal reserves of un-Christian loathing for my fellow exercisers, especially the ones 10 years older and 10kgs heavier than me who still managed to put their head on their knees.
At least we had a nice latte afterwards, with complementary homemade biscuit, and that in itself is reason to go again.
(Now excuse me while I get into my Radox bath.)
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
writing from Kampala where it is both hot and raining
Links
About Me
- Tooting bird
- Hello! I am married, almost 40, mother of 3 girls, former nurse, former PR exec,a Christian with a dodgy haircut and questionable clothes. I live in and love Tooting.
2 comments:
I have never been happier than when my osteopath told me that he didn't think Pilates was right for me. I heart you, Dr Zagar.
Hehee. I told you it was more of a workout than jogging! And you seemed ever so lithe at this morning's class.
Post a Comment