All that wobbles is not lost!

20 days until the clocks turn back. Days get longer and warmer, and we have to fit ourselves into that dreaded bikini/ skimpy one piece. Feeling sick with the thought of my long white legs out in the open and heaven forbid there may be a bit of what the Significant Other refers to as “Hail Damage” (cellulite), I racked my brain for inspiration to get me looking fab and wonderful before I decide to hop over to Ibiza or Majorca. I flicked back to an email a girlfriend sent me. One word to instill fear in the minds of women all over London

BOOTCAMP

Now I am not averse to a bit of exercise, or a stranger to it. But lets face it ladies, if we have the choice between a bottle of Pinot Gris (or even Grigio) or one hour of alternating between feeling dizzy, about to pass out from pain, or trying to balance ourselves in difficult positions whilst pulling a giant rubber band in different directions I think I’ll take the former. Trying to convince myself that very night after reading the email that I didn’t need to resort to this, (I can still get into my size 8 skinny jeans ….with a shoe horn!!), one more look in the mirror was all it took to decide that something needed doing and fast! And really….a girl can only expect a certain amount of help from good old Saint Tropez.

So on the bandwagon I jumped and Tuesday arrived with me and my two trusties standing outside Tooting “Massive” station and quaking with what we weren’t sure was fear or just plain shock at how stupid we possibly were for subjecting ourselves to the next hour and a half.

Arriving at a dodgy little carpark I was just wondering whether we had possibly been jipped out of our money when along came our Instructor. I was expecting a large ex-army Brit with a wicked accent shouting at us to drop and give him twenty. When along came “Fernando” a young, small Trinidadian man, with a very camp wave. I was beginning to wonder if he would be a pushover and we could powerwalk and share hair treatment tips when he very quickly handed out rubber bands of different shapes and sizes and skipping ropes and got us running quick smart shouting such encouragement as “What doesn’t kill you only makes you fatter” and “Feel the burn and embrace it”. While I dragged my lardarse around the park,  I found myself thinking, if any man can turn what wobbles into gold, this wee fellow will do it.

I have never been in so much pain in all my life, and after training full time as a dancer, and dancing professionally, that’s saying something! If you want the quickest way to whip into shape in a month for your European summer holidays, I would highly recommend Fernando’s Boot camp. Running, skipping (with a rope, not the frolick in the meadow type), squats, lunges, pushups, jumping on and off park benches, and ladies this man will not let you stop, even after the muscles stop working and you are stuck in your squat looking constipated! Along with a long experience in personal training and nutrition this little man is like the god of trim, taught, and toned!! I’ve received my first weight loss tip for the week, “If you want to eat that piece of cake or handful of crisps, make sure you repeat “I do not want to burn any calories for the next few hours” while you do it”, its enough to make a girl spring in the other direction from a muffin presto!

The only downside would be having to get out of bed every morning feeling like the 8.30 to Waterloo has just run over you but nothing a hot shower shouldn’t be able to ease (note I said ease…not fix!).

I’ve got week one over and done with, and am thinking it will be good training for my ten k run (another story for another day, I believe I may have been a little overenthusiastic when I signed on for that one!) I’m hoping things will get a little easier into the second week, but then again, I’ve heard Fernando gets tougher on you as the weeks progress. Will keep you posted, but so far the best 85 pounds I’ve spent in London so far, and if it banishes my love handles, Joey pouch and bingo wings… I’ll nominate Fernando for an OBE.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to eat some lettuce.