Wibbly Wobbly Weight Loss

wobbly wobbly weightless

A week or so ago, I told Gary I had taken up ballet.

Yes, it was absolutely a blessing send from Heaven that he was not eating anything at the time.

He’d have choked and died a quick but humorous death, as he pictured his plump, uncoordinated wife attempting ballet.

His mouth was, thankfully, empty.

His face, however, was not, as he attempted and failed to hide his expression of amused disbelief.

I thumped him.

And then I told him it was ballet for the over fifties. He could not hide his mirth anymore, and guffawed right into my face ๐Ÿคจ

Now, I’m not actually over fifty. At 46, I’m heading there but I’m not there yet. But if any kind of ballet was going to suit me, it would be ballet for the elderly.

So, today I started my day with a walk with Harv (our black, somewhat intellectually challenged lab), and quickly followed it up with a short ballet lesson (for the over fifties).

I’ve been at it for a couple of weeks. Twice a day.

I’m still on lesson two.

Lesson one was all about first, second and so on positions. I now know these off by heart, and, even if I do say so myself, have wonderfully balletic positions.

Don’t be too impressed. I think I’m doing astoundingly well if I manage to stay upright.

I may have lower expectations than the ballet teacher…

It’s lesson two which has me completely confounded.

It’s called ‘Finding Your Centre’.

The only thing I find is my confusion.

You’re meant to rock back and forth, until all of the parts of your feet are in contact with the floor. Then you gradually move up your body, pulling in your bottom and then your tummy.

It’s here I become unstuck. I pull in my bottom just fine. But as soon as I pull in my tummy, my bottom simultaneously pops out again. I’ve had five children, people! That does something to a girl’s abdominals. It’s like my abdos (as they are now affectionately known) are attached by a piece of string to my glutes. I pull in one, and the other pops out.

Finding my centre is nearby impossible with all this muscular too-ing and fro-ing.

And don’t get me started on my head, which always seems to protrude forward, a bit like a chicken.

And we all know chickens don’t do ballet.

Maybe I should take a hint…

But noooooo, today I attempted lesson three. A short lesson about pliers plies (pleeeaise). You know what? I cracked this one on my first attempt! I now know my positions (arms and feet) and I know how to plie.

It’s not pretty. It’s not elegant. But it is plie-esc.

I am balleting…but still none the wiser with regards to finding my centre ๐Ÿ™ˆ

I’m not going to write about my weight too often, because let’s face it, you’d probably all get very bored, very quickly. However, when a month has a fifth Friday in it, I shall regale you with tales of my wibbly, wobbly weightloss. And let me assure you that there will be much wibbling and wobbling and probably very little weightlossing…but a girl can try, right? ๐Ÿคจ