I aint clowning around

Well actually I am. But you already know that, you're reading this blog. But I'm clowning to varying degrees of success. Well my acrobatics teacher Christophe clearly thinks I'm a clown, he's always laughing at me. Yes. That's right I do actual acrobatics at school. We have already had one person hospitalised with a broken leg and another who nearly broke her neck today. So we're like REAL acrobats. Today I almost flew. It was just after the moment of doubt set in during the the jump into a roley poley (or rather the forward flip) and I realised that this was just plain silly, what on earth am I doing this for? So mid jump and the start of the flip over I chickened out and instead executed the most perfect example of someone walking through air as I desperately tried not to land in a heap the other side of the safety mat. I like to think I was channeling Peter Pan but in reality it's just known as panic. I landed with a little laugh and frozen smile 'I'm fine, Mmmm hmmm, fine' as I tried to stop the tears of shock escaping my eyes. Christophe then went on to set a higher jump challenge with a pointed 'If you can' in my direction. I happily took the excuse to not do this bit whilst Juliette successfully managed to step in my shoes and almost break her neck. 

Christophe is 75. Yep. 75. And he can do all the exercises he sets us as easy as you can lift your hand to your mouth when it's holding alcohol or chocolate (replace for steak if you're male). I am succeeding I think. Judging by the amount of times I get an 'AINE! Tut tut tut!' Shouted across the class followed by a slap on the hand or head depending on which offending body part I screwed up or almost injured. We have been practising Roley poley's since week one. Yes. Roley Poleys. And I still manage to tap the top of my head rather than tuck it under and land flat on my back in a heap. 'AINE! Head' My cartwheels are a roaring success 'AINE! Hands parallel!' Slap. 'Oui, D'accord.' Yeah I know. Cartwheels. Easy. I thought so too but apparently the way I did it as a child is wrong and not technically safe. Christophe would rather I took death defying risks and throw myself at the floor without my usual support systems. My Granddad spent years unsuccessfully teaching me how to dive. Dive. In water. And you want me to throw myself head first to the floor? Are you insane? Clearly. You're 75 and still doing acrobatics. The key I think is to believe and to not think too much. Which I think is also the key to religion. 

However, where I shine is in the stretching bit before all this madness begins. 'Tres Bien Aine' said as Christophe pushes my legs into positions they've never been in before and has me in near tears at the pain. 'Souffle' Mmmm...chocolate souffle. No, he in fact means breath out and relax. But whatever gets you through moments of pain works for me. My posture is visibly improving as my back discovers muscles it had no idea were there. And that little mysterious roll of fat that hangs over your trousers no matter what weight you are has disappeared. Totally disappeared. This man holds the key to the happiness of all womankind. He's my hero. I think I'm in love.

Speaking of love, I actually got up and did an exercise in Francois class yesterday. And he didn't groan and hide his face. In fact he jumped up and told me I was brilliant. Or rubbish. I couldn't tell I was too busy concentrating on his lips moving as I tried to stay away from staring at his pelvic area. The bottom...The flexible hips...who cares about anything. I'm not here to learn...Oh shit. Aine. Concentrate. He's saying something. 

Note: I use another name for acting so technically this blog is about making 'Aine' a clown but I prefer to use my real name here. Which also means technically none of the mistakes are mine. God that Aine's well rubbish. She can't even do cartwheels...