As I flop onto the sofa after a manic Monday morning rushing to clean the house for the estate agent and prospective buyers to visit, my mind is swimming. My mind is swimming with the 'what if's'; whether they'll like it, if they do, will we get the house we want? If we do, how long will it take? Will we be here or there for Christmas? And what was it we were going to have for dinner tonight? Ah, roast beef. Mustn't forget to put it in the oven before we go to gymnastics.
Watching gymnastics feels very un-sporty. In the dingy cafe, sat upon spindly aluminium high chairs overlooking the sports hall, it is stuffy; the smell of warm rubber from the squash courts, and the plastic exercise mats mixes with the cappucinos sipped at by harrassed mothers trying to keep awake through the hour-long session. I wish that by watching my daughter at gymnastics, I could absorb the essence of fitness by osmosis or something. I wonder whether attending sports centres has a positive effect upon your health or if even just parking outside can be beneficial in some way. Some hope.
There are always posters in reception inviting you to tone up your body for the summer, although now it will probably have switched to ski fitness classes and taunts to 'get into that xmas party dress'. It's not that I don't like exercising, just that I've been there and done that about 20 years ago and it probably explains my arthritic condition now. Plus, unfit as I probably am, it may well kill me.
Whilst my daughter is learning forward rolls and cartwheels, my mind briefly flirts with the idea of just one last game of squash. And then I remember how my knees have never fully recovered from the skipping incident. So I'll have to stick to walking the dog which is probably as good an exercise as any and at least you get fresh air. However, I think that we all like to feel part of a movement, a rhythm, (if you'll pardon the pun) and that the sense of belonging to a group of people committed to improving themselves in some way is the finest reminder of our continued existence in the world whether it's through an activity such as writing or indeed exercising. Well, I've got the writing bit sewn up but I don't think that this spectator sport business is going to work on my middle-age spread. Perhaps I should try swimming again. Actual swimming. I think I'll have a cup of coffee and think about it.