This morning I feel like I have been coshed over the back of the head. The reason is because yesterday I went back to the gym for what I thought would be an aerobics lesson, contrite after a chocolate infused few weeks off for the Easter holidays and as usual, felt like dying a slow death afterwards. I survived the punching, high kicking, and power jogging, but when our instructor told us to pair up and give our partner piggy back rides at running pace up and down the ‘studio’ floor, I thought that my heart was about to burst out of my chest. I am not sure if this fitness technique would pass in European gymnasiums – perhaps it would contravene certain safety standards? When my mum was staying she hinted that I must be mad doing these ‘boot camp’ classes, as I always emerge re faced, exhausted and grumpy. I couldn’t explain that just having survived it gives me a huge sense of satisfaction, even it is to the detriment of the rest of the day and at the peril of the rest of the family.