Allergic to exercise
I really don’t think exercise is good for me. Practiced as usual on Friday night, then on Saturday Andrew and I danced out from 11.30 to 4.30 at the Mill Road Winter Fair
There were three morris sides there: Coton Morris Men (experts in the least stealthy of martial arts), Cambridge Morris Men and the Ely and Littleport Riot. (The Gog Magog Molly dancers were also there, but except for the last half hour they were dancing at different places from us.) So it meant that we would do a dance, then we’d get a break while Coton and then Cambridge danced before we did another one.
So it really didn’t seem all that strenuous while I was doing it, and I really enjoyed myself. When I wasn’t dancing, I was able to play the bodhran for the other dancers, which was just as much fun. It was a fantastic day. Lots of the shops were giving away free hot drinks and snacks, and we could hear a brilliant samba band in the distance. Unfortunately we didn’t have an opportunity to really look at anything because we were dancing all day, except for a break for a quick pub lunch.
As we walked back to the car, I was congratulating myself on the fact that my level of fitness had increased noticeably. I can now do three dances in succession, whereas when I started I had trouble finishing one. And I could go home from four hours of dancing feeling scarcely tired at all.
By the time I got home I had collapsed. My shoulder felt raw and damaged, I could barely straighten up or walk or keep my eyes open. And I spent most of today flat on my back with a migraine. I’m becoming quite used to the fact that the day after a dance-out I spend half the day in bed with a migraine, but I didn’t think exercise was supposed to do that to you. If the pundits can be believed, exercise is supposed to make you feel better. So why does it make me feel as if I’ve been run over by a truck?