Aching like billy-o

A new version of rhubarb cake for Zac's last night. A rhubarb and white chocolate pound cake.

Munch, munch. "Is it apple?"

"No."

Munch, munch. "Peach?"

"No."

Munch, munch. "Pear?"

"No."

Still it went down well. At least it all went, though admittedly Graham had about eight slices.

* * * * *

The new exercise class I'm going to on Tuesday mornings is pretty intense. A warm-up followed by HIIT (high intensity) session followed by a circuit of sorts with rest periods of twenty seconds between exercises.

I stopped going to my Wednesday class partly because it wasn't intense enough: twenty active minutes out of an hour. I should be careful what I wish for.

I asked on Facebook if people exercised because they enjoyed it or because they thought they should. Most people seemed to have a love hate relationship with it. 

I don't like it. I definitely go because I think I should but all things being equal I would much rather sit down with a book. Part of the problem is that when I go I have to push myself, do the very best of which I am capable, and end up sweaty and tired.  I could take it easy but there's no point and I feel good at the end. But before and during, no. And currently, the day after, very much no as my buttocks and inner shoulders ache like billy-o. (That's another phrase you don't hear very much.)

One woman did suggest I should find an exercise I enjoy. She recommended pilates and walking. I don't consider walking as exercise and when I've tried pilates in the past it's been too passive. Maybe I was doing it wrong though.