This is just going to be a short blog post gentle reader and I apologise in advance. My reason? Well, my entire body feels like it’s been through a mincing machine and turned into Stevenson pies. And it’s all my own fault as well. I’ll elaborate, albeit briefly.

Yesterday my exquisite wife and I attended our local swimming pool to partake in something called Hydrolates. Basically Pilates in water. Or so I thought.

What it ended up as, or so it seemed to me at least, was nothing short of Aqua Boot Camp.

The highly energetic session was led by a pretty, athletic young lady who bounced eagerly around and shouted encouragement and buzz words from the side of the pool accompanied by the sound of a boom-box playing dance/trance/techno music. Now, I’m fairly sure that I was the youngest person there (and the only male) at 56 years old and I have a penchant for the likes of Yes, Rush and Jethro Tull, so who exactly that gosh darn awful music was aimed at I just do not know.

But that was the least of my worries.

I had imagined that we’d be doing a series of gentle exercises and stretches, letting the water take the strain, and that by the end we’d have a serene sense of well-being. Pah! It was high impact aerobics brilliantly disguised as water based Pilates. The only well-being I felt was from the sticky piece of delicious and desperately needed flapjack I just had to have in the cafe afterwards to prevent myself from fainting. I even had half of Ange’s.

The session was akin to some form of medieval torture wrought by some tyrannical despot. And to be honest, the young lady didn’t really fit that description but she was definitely relentless.

This morning my body is a total train wreck. My shoulders are shouting, my biceps are burning, my midriff is moaning and my legs are limp. Fibromyalgia has never been happier and is having a whale of a time with me.

I honestly believe that if I’d gone for a 25 mile route march across the Highlands with the SAS and a full kit bag I would be feeling better than I am right now. And I must confess that there were several of the exercises that I just didn’t even attempt at the risk of losing my life or at the very least separating muscle from bone. Yes, that bad.

I won’t be going next week, or the week after, because it’s going to take a lot longer than that for my body to recover (if it ever does) and besides, I simply don’t have medication strong enough to cope with it.

Ok, that’s it. I said it would be short and I need to take a muscle relaxant and lie down now.