Reverse ageing

I’ve spent this beautiful sunny day in the basement of Stonemonkey Studio, doing a First Aid at Work course designed specifically for yoga teachers. I (obviously) learnt a number of new things, including the fact that not only have the proportions of body presses to breaths changed in CPR, but the speed of the body presses has also increased from ‘Nelly the Elephant’ BPM to the slightly more rapid ‘Staying Alive’ BPM. Who decides on these things? It feels like a group of doctors sitting at some high decision-making echelon are getting high on ethanol and having a bit of a giggle…

Throughout the day I felt a rising sense of mild panic that:

a) Once certified, I might then actually be expected to take control of a first aid situation and put my new skills into practice. I suspect that this scenario would be toe-squirmingly blag-tastic.

b) Being a yoga teacher is not immune to the minefield of health and safety nonsense. Apparently, if someone so much as tweaks a muscle or gets a splinter in class, they can make a claim against me for up to two years after the incident, so I need to ensure that I have all paperwork in order, otherwise my insurance is rendered null and void (don’t get me started on the inexcusable immorality of insurance companies…). Therefore, every time a student merely winces from exertion in class, I should in theory fill out a comprehensive accident form and attach my lesson plan, risk assessment and evidence that I had asked students prior to class about their medical history etc etc. Eek…

Another observation from the weekend was the age-limbo that I find myself in. At a rather splendid house-party on Saturday night, one of the fellow guests guessed my age as 23. GET IN. Admittedly, I was lit solely by an outdoor firepit and he could also have been audaciously on the pull. But still, I’ll choose to believe his sincerity, for my own vanity’s sake. However, that very morning I had acted rather like a senile octogenarian. I had gone for a run to enjoy the beautiful sunshine and I remember reaching the end of the road with a growing sense that something wasn’t quite right. I looked down slowly at my feet and took in the pink fluffy slippers where my bouncy Asics should have been, and cackled at myself like the maniacal mad old woman that I physically emulated. From 80 to 23 in one day – that’s quite some age-drop…

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