Village life

This morning
Not much time to type just now – I’m off to our fitness class in half an hour, and I’m going through my regular five minutes of wondering why I bother.
There’s not a lot of dignity within a clutch of about a dozen men and women in their 70s puffing and panting in unlovely semi unison. Any illusions disappear at speed for the hour.
And yet . . . I’ve grown accustomed to the sweat, and I’m better now at handling strain and pain (with apologies to “My Fair Lady”).
Truth is that that this weekly burst of regimented stretch and strain has made me noticeably fitter in the last year. No bigger muscles perhaps, body weight is still increasing relentlessly. But I move better, walk further, and ache a lot less these days, and that’s a real bonus.
The shame is that in a retirement village of 160 independent homes and units, only about 25 residents (in two staged groups) can see benefit in improving their health.
But don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not training for the Olympics, not measuring muscle growth and have no plans to start jogging.
It’s just that there’s a worthwhile sense of satisfaction in building up an honest sweat in good company, once a week - besides which there’s nothing better than the “cuppa and scones and my comfortable chair” after the exercise ends.
This evening
Fitness session went well, in that I survived. Very fit (and attractive) young woman in charge worked us very hard, and warned “we’d hate her” tomorrow, what with all those press-ups, and stretches, and weights routines. Nothing new in that though, and we all had the rest of the day (max 37.5 degrees Celsius) to rest in air-conditioned comfort - until the power went off mid-afternoon. . . .
It was just after the power came on again when the ‘phone rang:”Can you come out at 8 am tomorrow please? We need someone to help shift sand at the bowls green?” our organiser – in - chief asked.
We’re expecting 38 degrees tomorrow, but what could I say but yes? They all saw me leave the fitness class unaided, you see!