People who know me will tell you that I'm not much of a gym girl. Mostly because I'm a lazy cow who can always think of better things to do than exercise (and yes, watching old episodes of Beverly Hills 90210 dubbed in French counts). Also, I don't like gyms. They're invariably smelly and people look ugly in them and the lighting doesn't do me any favours and honestly, having to shower in front of loads of naked girls may be your fantasy, but it's not mine.
Nonetheless, exercise must be had, especially when one is: a) quitting smoking, and b) stuffing one's face with disgusting sandwiches and butter-filled pastries all day in a depressing team room.
So, as I have previously noted in these pages, I have joined a gym. And it's not so bad, really. I mean sure, it's filled with gay men and girls who look like they could beat me up with their pinkie finger, and it's more "dive bar grunge" than "health spa chic", but it's right next to my flat (meaning I can shower at home) and the classes are fantastic.
I tested my first class today: Body Jam. Probably the best exercise I've had in a very long time (ok, that's not saying much, but still it's really good exercise). And it's essentially a dance class, which makes it much more palatable for exercise-phobes like myself. During one hour, the teacher mixes up hip-hop, salsa, Bob Fosse-esque cabaret, etc. and makes sure you never, ever stop moving. I was having an absolutely fabulous time until we had to turn to face the mirrors, and I realized that instead of the ultimate hip-hop babe I thought I was, I looked like a Park Avenue princess who took a wrong turn on her way to ballet...
Whatever. I'm cool on the inside.