Knees Bend, Arms Stretch....Ra Ra Ra?

I went to my first get-your-lungs-back-in-some-sort-of-shape exercise class today. It's at the Warrington Wolves R L F C Stadium which is massive and leases out parts of the building to the NHS, private functions, businesses etc. I'll be going on Tuesdays and Fridays until Christmas week.

Fridays it's 12 noon until 2 p.m. and I staggered in from the car park, clutching my mobile oxygen cylinder in it's smart little back pack, and sank on to a chair in the waiting area to recover. The thing is ridiculously heavy. I had parked in the designated car-park which said "For the use of NHS at Wolves patients only" but every single bay was a "disabled" one and - I'm not disabled. I resolved that, if I should get a ticket, I would be straight back in the stadium and they would be paying the fine, not me.

There are about 16 of us on this particular course. Most are around my age, mid-60s, though there are one or two who are quite a bit older. All of us have non-fully functioning lungs but I seem to be the only one whose lungs don't grab enough oxygen when exerting myself, though I don't weeze or pant like some of them.

We're in a pleasant gym and we had 3 physiotherapists there today. Alison, the head honcho, showed us the exercises we would be required to perform. They range from sit-stand-sit-stand, through steps, light weights, wall press-ups, on to cycling and twisting the upper torso in a way that I'm damned sure nature never intended. At their behest, I did mine with the cylinder on my shoulder and I reckon I worked at least twice as hard as everyone else due to the weight. We had to indicate, on a sliding scale, how breathless we felt after each task (there were 12) but I found those short bursts of intense energy much less tiring than carrying the blasted cylinder in from the car park.

After the exercises there was coffee and biscuits, which was nice, while we had a talk about the benefits of the course and what we could expect from it. Steve, one of the physios, asked if anyone would like to bring in a CD next week so we can "perform" to music. I said I could, happily, supply Elvis or Glenn Miller but they all looked a bit stunned. Well, I'm damned if I'm going to do press-ups to Mantovani so, on Tuesday, I may take a selection (and I have a very varied collection). I'll include the Beach Boys, they always make easy listening. On second thoughts I could take my son's AC/DC tribute band's CD, that'd shake 'em up a bit.

All we ladies on the course were chatting together by the end of the session but the men were still a bit distant. I hope they drop their guard a bit before we're finished. We duly trotted out at the end and, once again, I staggered, under the weight of my cylinder, to my car on the car park. No, I hadn't been ticketed and the 2 policemen in their patrol car, who were parked nearby, just gave me a bored look and went back to their chat.

The stadium is right next door to the enormous Tesco store but, needing just a few delicacies for the weekend, I drove a mile down the road to Sainsburys. I know my way round that store, know the quality of their deli counter and it's on the way home. Half an hour later I was home, lugged the blasted cylinder into the house and put the kettle on for a cup of tea and a dark chocolate Kit-Kat.

Next session, Tuesday.