Stringfellows Workout

Every Friday morning, partner personal trains myself and client: lady of the house, in her garage. Most garages are so full of lawnmowers, bike helmets, scooters and pogo sticks that training would be impossible. However, this is an almost empty double garage and doubles up perfectly well as a studio.

This morning we arrive to find builders have moved in to our training space. Don’t worry, lady of the house says, we can use the sitting room. Partner is wondering how this is going to pan out. The sitting room is straight from Homes and Gardens. It is modern, pristine and beautiful and not at all like the garage. We take off our shoes. I am glad I have worn my pink t shirt – I match the cushions beautifully, which is important in this sitting room, as everything matches everything else beautifully.

Partner adapts effortlessly to the new space: asking me to run down the length of the sitting room and perform two punches on the pad at the end. The floor is under heated, highly polished oak. I slide into the pad, narrowly missing the wine fridge. Partner is looking worried.

The workout continues and I’m starting to sweat. I don’t want to drip on the oak. I move to the cooler, more easily washable marble kitchen floor to perform my burpees.

I admire lady of the house’s lights, to distract from my sweat. They create a pretty, holographic glow. We could be in a nightclub, I quip. Lady of the house gives me a disapproving look. A posh nightclub, I try recover the situation, like Stringfellows.

Partner senses that it’s time for a change of mood and a new exercise. He pulls out two dining room chairs. But I’m on a roll. I straddle one of them Madonna ‘Like a Virgin’ style – but I’m clearly not. I start singing. Partner is now starting to sweat. Ok, let’s do the plank, he says in a last ditch attempt at salvaging a rapidly deteriorating situation. And now onto your backs for reverse bridge – his finale. ‘Touched for the very first time’ – I start humming. I can’t help myself, as I thrust my hips towards the beautiful vaulted ceiling.

Lady of the house looks at partner and I wearily, and as she pushes the dining room chairs safely back under the table she sighs, I’ll never feel quite the same about my sitting room ever again…

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