On Thursday I went to an exercise class.

My good friend had hunted high and low for a class we could attend together. It isn’t easy. All evenings are basically a no go. We can’t go too near school pick up or on Saturdays.

We don’t really want to commit to a gym and then never make it to any classes. The gym itself holds no appeal. We are not tread-millers or weight lifters.

After searching diligently she finally found a class on a Thursday morning called Sculpt Mix.

To my mind that sounded promising. The word Sculpt held great connotations. Mix sounded as if it wouldn’t get dull.

So last week we turned up on a bright autumnal morning. Once I had got over the shock of being told we were going to do the class outside- in full view of the wet suited men using the water skiing lake, and amongst the duck and rabbit poo- the actual class was OK. It was quite fun. Once I stopped trying to compete with the pregnant lady who was out squatting me despite her large bump. In fact I made quite a play of my lack of any form of exercise over the last six months.

The instructor, very annoyingly svelte despite having two kids much younger than mine, did warn us that we would ache. And she wasn’t wrong. My quads were on fire until at least Sunday evening.

Of course this week rolled around and, in the manner of childbirth and house moving, I had conveniently forgotten the pain.

This week I began aching during circuit 4.

I didn’t think it was going to be as bad as last week so I decided to spend quite a bit of Friday gardening. And it wasn’t ‘pottering around with a small fork and deadheading’ type gardening it was ‘digging away at the largest, deepest rooted weeds ever seen’ gardening. The sort that spending exactly zero time since May out there engenders.

And today I literally cannot move. Changing level is agony. I am thinking twice, possible three times, before bending over. This makes laundry quite hard. And going for a wee. And don’t get me started on stair climbing. I had to crawl up here earlier.

Nurofen is not helping at all.

Somewhere inside me a few muscles are more sculpted than before. They are not visible yet. I am probably at least 5 pounds and a year of classes away from that.

I have signed up for two more sessions. And then half term hits and I will have two weeks off.

Goodness knows how it will go when I return. At least the pregnant lady will have had to leave. To actually give birth. She will probably be back a couple of weeks later.

I don’t think exercise is good for me. Not really.