Forget “Fusion”

Previously the only fusion I’ve experienced has been served to me out of a wok.  But with what suddenly seems a worryingly short 19 weeks to go, I sign up for a “Spin Fusion” class advertised at the work gym at 5.15. First 25 minutes is fine – just spinning on the bike, and following Andreas’ advice I keep the knob cranked up; “As you’ll only be cheating yourself!”. But then for the last 20 minutes the eight of us are off the bikes doing shuttle runs, crunches and planks!  The worst part is we have to take it in turns to count 20 of each – when it comes to my turn; a plank with 20 leg lifts (I didn’t know what they were either) I’m so out of breath that my wavering whispering voice sounds like a Korean airline executive who’s resigning after getting upset about her nuts.  I barely make it to 20, but fortunately I’m too knackered to be embarrassed.  I’m sure it will be worth it once the weather station comes into view…

Forget “Fusion”

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