I go to the local leisure centre twice a week for Pilates classes.
For those of you not familiar with Pilates it is a holistic exercise that involves body and mind.
A calming and strengthening process where quiet is not just preferred, it is essential.
But this week?
Madness ensued!
For some inexplicable reason the Centre Manager swapped the classes round (local politics we are led to believe) - so that the Pilates class (18 people) was swapped from the dance studio to the Dojo – and the ball and step aerobics class (6 people) was put into the Dance Studio.
On the face of it that sounds fine – except that the Dojo is half the size – being an old undersized badminton/squash court – and thus has room for just 15 yoga mats – meaning 3 of our number were out in the corridor!
Plus... the Dojo also has short walls. I.E. they do not reach the ceiling – an open plan ceiling if you will – and every sound from the weights room on a mezzanine directly above; from the new squash courts; from main hall where both badminton and bowls club were meeting, yes, EVERY sound, echoes through every section.
It - was - noisy.
Now... there we were in an ancient padded cell - it had padded floor and half padded walls (the other half being peeling paint effect). The Dojo's floor was also filthy because some lovely person had walked round it in muddy shoes (even though footwear is, of course, forbidden in the dojo).
You get the picture?
Conducive to relaxation this was not.
But nothing ventured we began the class.
Then... rattle, rattle, rattle. Where was that coming from?
Was it the ratchetts on the weights? No. Far more rhythmic than accidental.
Was someone trying to wind us up?
One of our happy band raced up to the mezzanine to ask the weight jockeys to shut the **** up...
But these poor muscle mules are innocent!!
Unbeknownst to us a band of guerilla toddlers had occupied the crèche in the next door room.
Now we had a handful of hyperactive toddlers – complete with entire percussion section. Xylophone, drum, triangle – you name it – bashing away at full pelt.
Then the rain began – in the way it can in the Peaks – onto a corrugated metal roof.
No amount of turning up the volume on the new age cd can get over the wall of sound – especially when it's competing with howls of laughter from the class.
And the Leisure Centre had one last spoke to stick into the proceedings.
Or to be more precise into the Leisure Centre's own roof!
It leaks. Like the proverbial...
Class was finally not so much dismissed as dissolved.
But laughter is also good therapy you know.
