Everything Counts (in Small Amounts)

Ooh I have a new wedding topic. The music list!

Now, all over the country prospective couples are arguing the toss over the inclusion of various tracks. Us too, now. I favour old school Madonna, the odd Killers track, a wee bit of Candi Staton and some trance.

Banned is Van Morrison (I loath brown eyed girl with a PASSION), anything with tiger feet in the title and no flippin’ Abba either.

And now we enter the dilemma of musical arrogance. What I like may not be what everyone else wants to dance to. Particularly as this is a mixed generation gathering (as is usually the case with nuptials).

But flip! This is a rare opportunity for me to listen to the exact music I love. Best not to waste it hmm?

Kettle Bells: the Russians can keep ’em!

Madge: I am a teenager of the 80s. Of course I love her…

Madonna; marvellous woman. Wouldn’t want her love life but her arms are something a girl might covet.

To this end, and as I have elected for a sleeveless wedding dress and confess to a degree or 20 of bodily vanity, I have enlisted the help of a personal trainer and charged him with giving me Madonna like limbs. (Kind of regretted this, as he has taken me at my word.)

We’ve been working together for a couple of months. Press-ups feature a lot, as do kettle bells. When I began working out years ago, I remember doing bicep curls, tricep dips and the odd movement with a barbell. Fast forward 15 years and exercise got that rather more difficult. It’s not enough to move one muscle at a time – you’ve got to use a few of them at the same time and get a wee bit out of puff too.

Working to fail seems to be pretty popular these days too. It’s no use to pick up a 3kg weight (no matter what Tracy Anderson says, I think that the lean body weight she promises is more to do with the starvation diet than anything else!) and lift it 50 or so times without breaking a sweat. Trainers these days prefer you to lift really heavy weight, struggle and only manage 10 or so.

Groaning, swearing, cursing the trainer and the woman who brought him into the world all seems to be the norm with such sessions. But it’s all part of the journey to something (better muscles, living mindfully through exercise, doing something when you think you can’t etc etc) so er… watch this space?!

The Plank and Teenage Confessions

Oh, I don’t mean to boast…

It’s just not British, and particularly not Scottish, to boast. Self-depreciation is our national sport and we view with suspicion (often rightly) those who blow their own trumpets. But er… here goes…

Some people don’t like them; I kinda love them.

I’ve joined a gym. Relevance to wedding blog – it’s probably obvious. I’m striving for Madonna arms ahead of planned wedding dress perusal venture planned in the next few months. Last night, said establishment held an abs challenge in class and I won [I’ve shrunk the font size to try to minimise the boast] as I held the plank for 5 minutes and 35 seconds.

The plank is a move beloved of gym instructors and you can see a good demonstration of how to do it here. I felt like a woman of STEEL afterwards!

I’m now going to try to justify this boast. My school days were relatively happy and incident-free once we’d all got beyond the age of 15 (the height of teenage girl dreadfulness); however, I used to absolutely dread PE classes as they involved mainly competitive sports and I was utterly rubbish.

Like many teenage girls, I dropped PE as soon as I could and wrote myself off as an unfit, unsporty person. I’m hoping that doesn’t sound too self-pitying. Worry not, dear readers – my lack of sporting ability didn’t damage me that badly and not having to run around a frozen hockey pitch on a Saturday morning as those whose ball skills far exceeded mine had to do was definitely a big bonus.

As a result of this early sporting uselessness, any fitness achievement means a great deal to me. It’s a way of saying ‘ya boo sucks’ to that PE department of old. So indulge me my turn on the trumpet (does that sound vaguely rude?); it’s closure on teen failure!