Yogi, I am not!

Thursday 4th April 2019:

After missing my last rehab session due to my most recent hospital admission (I’m getting a bit of a reputation), I made it to my third cardiac gym class today…with the new kit my family managed to select and buy while I was lying on the floor of the sports shop after overdosing on GTN spray due to indigestion, and desperately trying not to become hysterical with worry. What a plonker!

Of course my ultra-supportive heart buddies didn’t see the funny side…much. Actually, they thought it was more hilarious than anyone else I’ve had the misfortune of mentioning it to. It’s funny because it’s true…and they know it more than most. They are still total gits!

In all seriousness, though, I do love my new crew. I can’t help but beam as I pedal and row my way around the circuits, and we laugh so much my cheeks ache when I leave each session. And it’s not just the patients, but the volunteers and this week it was Matt the instructor’s choice of music. Note-to-self, Matt: Elvis’ Love Me Tender is not the high-octane track you need to hear when you’re trying to pump the weights with sass. Though one of the old chaps…let’s call him Fred…did a spot of free-style dancing which did make my heart skip a little beat (in a good way for once this month).

You’re seriously not supposed to enjoy working out this much, are you? Who knew there were genuine advantages to having a heart attack?

Having said that I’m still not fully convinced about relaxation, given I usually run on about 80% adrenaline. Last night I listened to a spot of “sleep meditation” and it actually kept me awake. I also gave yoga another go yesterday but the half “headstand pose” came seriously close to wrecking my bouffant quiff.

I’m definitely more Boo Boo than I am a Yogi but I’ll keep on keeping on.


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