You know, I don’t really get the chance to suffer from those ‘After Work Monday Blues’, that feeling of exhaustion that washes over you when you get back home after a long slog in the office on a Monday and makes you wish that darkness would fall quicker so that you can just crawl into bed and sleep all the way through to a far more acceptable Tuesday.
The reason for this is pretty simple: every Monday evening, straight after work, it’s gym time and more specifically, Katabox time. There is nothing more refreshing than driving to Virgin Active straight from the office, getting changed, hitting the exercise bicycle for 20 or so minutes, getting off and then going straight into the studio where for the next hour your sadistic class instructor has you jumping around like a mad bunny, swatting away invisible mosquitoes and shoeing away imaginary kitties – truly there is ALMOST nothing more invigorating and sweat inducing than a good Katabox class :)
And to make the deal even sweeter, this week saw Chantelle join me in class for the first time in absolute ages… no wonder she was as stiff as a construction worker that wonders in on a lingerie shoot by accident yesterday!
Oh and talking about Monday evening’s thoroughly enjoyable gym session, I even got to see something quite amusing as well.
Certainly it wasn’t as enjoyable as seeing the guy at Danskraal who simultaneously picked up his two good looking female dance partners who then proceeded to make out with one another as the bloke held them both aloft for everyone to see, or as frustrating as sitting in traffic as the N2 ground to a halt to watch a middle-aged white policeman come charging after a pack of black youths who were as quick and agile as monkeys and who proceeded to clear the twin concrete barriers without breaking a sweat, leaving the out of breath policeman with no option but to give up the chase, or even as colourful as the rainbow-coloured toilet freshening cubes that made the gym urinals look like something straight out of Willy Wonk’s Candy Wonderland.
No, it was far more humorous. In the change rooms, fresh from his workout, and quite possibly his freshening up shower too, this old, white-haired chap ambled up to the mirror, set himself up and then proceeded to whip out a hand held, mini hairdryer and dried his do.
Quite remarkable and amusing in my opinion (whose hair hasn’t seen a comb in at least five years, let alone a hairdryer!)