Thursday, 5 January 2017

Tight pants...

Well, there is no going back now. 

Having finally tired of looking at pretty young things in Lycra on the internet, I made the decision to go into my local sports shop to find some attire for the Pilates class next week.  As this is an independent shop with real people, I was optimistic about finding something suitable, so I headed down there after work yesterday.

Now sports shops are very confusing as everything is displayed according to what you are planning on doing.  I have fond memories of shopping for trainers many years ago, and marvelling how you could have trainers for running, trainers for tennis, trainers for the gym etc etc.  When the spotty youth came over to offer his help, I asked him whether they sold trainers for watching television in.  After some questioning eye contact, he had a lightbulb moment, and said 'You're joking, right?'  Well of course I was joking, but it would appear that a sense of humour was not as high up on employee requirements as bad skin, daft trousers and stiff hair (it was the '90's in his defence).

So back to the sports shop.  The lady was really kind, steering me away gently from the excitable short stuff used in gyms and towards the back of the shop, where there was a rail of clothing in expensive subdued hues looking calm and capable.  She looked me up and down and picked out a pair of leggings and a few t-shirts, and bundled me into the changing room. Stripping down to my underwear and socks, I looked in the full length mirror and then at the leggings which were the width of two strips of insulation tape.  'You better have a bit of give', I muttered as I took them off the hanger.

Surprisingly, they fitted perfectly, and were extremely forgiving in the derriere section.  With their pink go-faster stripe on the side seam, I almost looked like I knew what I was doing.

I was glad it wasn't too wide a stripe as I would have looked like a Liquorice Allsort, so with these now on, I turned to the t-shirts.  I had said to the lady that it was important that the t-shirt was long enough to cover various bits and bobs, but the thing was that the t-shirts were either long at the front or at the back, but not both. Whipping my body from back to front, then back again, I tried to decide which was lesser of the two evils, finally deciding to buy two t-shirts and wear them both at the same time, thus covering all bases.  Never mind if I sweated like a pig, at least no one could accuse me of having a VPL or a dromedary toe (I'm trying to be delicate here, but failing, so please excuse me).

The next question was footwear.  The pair of trainers (for watching television in) which I bought at least twenty years ago, only had their first outing last week when I was decorating at daughter number one's flat.  I assumed that these would do.  But here was the next shock - no shoes necessary for Pilates, and this raised another issue.  I'll have to book a full pedicure with the fragrant Mrs H before I can get my trotters out.  Either that, or keep my socks on...

I was telling the girls at work about my forthcoming Pilates class, and the shout came up for a weekly swimming session.

Now that opens a whole new can of worms.  I think my feet will be the least of my problems...
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