Spicy training
One of my current goals in life is to take my cross training to a new level. This weekend’s activities ticked several boxes under this goal including wear Italian shoes that rarely touch the ground but get mighty muddy, dance like a crazy woman, and masticate until I’ve got jaw muscles as big as He-man’s biceps. (I wouldn’t want any of my muscles feeling left out.) It was a productive weekend, toward this goal anyway. The hours I stretched out on the floor of Boogie friend’s house watching Dancing on Ice, Waking the Dead, Robin Hood, and dare I admit, EastEnders, may require a higher level of creative thinking to justly be called ‘productive’.
Saturday morning we went out for a quick ride over to West Cliff to enjoy the sun and sea. It was refreshing after last week’s cold, icy weather. It was pretty non-eventful. So non-eventful that there’s really not anything else that can be said about it. Except it was fun and there were lots of cauliflower plants. And some cute dogs. And that’s where the Italian shoes came in.
After showering away the bits of mud from the ride, we headed to London to meet up with Boogie friend and Boogie friend’s husband for dinner and…a boogie. We were winners, and had dinner in Pinner. Mastication—check! Let’s just say, we like curry. We like it so much we ordered six different main dishes, as well as vegetable side dishes, rice and raitha. And we ate it all, thank you very much! We needed our strength for the dance floor. (Question: if I eat sag paneer every day, will I develop Popeye, the sailor man muscles?)
The pub with the dance floor appears to have a regular dancer, according to Boogie friend. He has been dubbed Bryan Ferry. He’s got the hair flicking down. He knows how to take his place on the floor. This guy’s certainly not afraid to be himself. Crunchy husband claims he’s a Northerner, evidenced by his chattiness and good-natured friendliness at the bar. (I tried to explain to Crunchy husband that Mr. Ferry may have been picking up on him, as he was wearing my Gap sweater tied around his shoulders.) I applaud you, Mr. New Romantic. You are a breath of fresh air in a dim, smoky pub filled with women who look down their noses at the few happy dancers who don’t really care if what they are doing with their legs, arms and hips is ‘cool’. It’s fun! Who cares!
We didn’t have dessert on Saturday night, so Boogie friend and I saw fit to indulge in chocolate fountain action on Sunday evening. Another tick for the jaw muscle workout. Oh I am so good! This fit nicely into my training plan as we dipped bananas, strawberries, oranges and pineapples in the fountain, with only the occasional pancake or marshmallow! So really, it was healthy. And it made us smile, working those zygomatic muscles.
Three cheers for the chocolate fountain! Hip, hip, hooray!