Getting in Shape

I never used to be a big gym person or a runner. In fact I’m pretty sure I was coincidentally ‘sick’ on the days we had P.E back in school. For as long as I can remember the only way I can get myself to exercise is if it’s fun.

But lately I’ve been developing a strange liking for the gym – I’ll wake up super early, hit the treadmill, do some stretching and then IF I REALLY CAN’T GET ENOUGH I’ll do laps around the pool.

I have become that person.

I blame bikini season, gluttony and quite frankly because I’m not the one who’s paying for it.

When I get back to the rain, wind and cold of London, away from the comfort zone of staying with relatives and a shrinking bank account, I’ll get out of this Gym Bunny phase, I promise.

On that note, here are my top 5 ways I like to stay in shape without feeling like it’s a chore:

1. Zumba – the new craze in fitness which involves a blend of cardio and rhythms of Latin and Hip Hop music. Literally a party in your living room!
2. Yoga & Pilates – You may think it’s overrated… till you try it! It’s honestly one of the best ways to stretch out your limbs and work on your core strength. I’ve even found this website which lets you stream videos for free and guides you the whole way through to keep you motivated.
3.  Swimming – I’m spoiled by having grown up in Cyprus where the beach is 10 minutes away. Swimming is and always has been one of my favourite ways to have fun while working out!
4. Late night sit-ups – No judgement, we’ve all been there.
5. Dancing – I think impromptu dance parties should be a normal thing in every household. And let me tell you, it’s the best way to burn some calories.

Me and my girls like the bass heavy.

S wears black. Black pants, a little back vest, or a black skirt. But always black liner to frame her dark eyes and gorgeous lashes.  Tonight it’s a black figure hugging dress. She wears some nude lip gloss to accentuate those heart shaped lips of hers. Like they needed any help.

E wears flirty, flowery skirts that float around her and tiny tank tops of lace, and big chunky rings. There’s always a lock of sandy brown hair tucked behind her ears. Her eyes sparkle with ocean blue glitter.

I wears an off-the-shoulder pink body con dress. Her arm is adorned with an equally tight - fitted snake cuff. Her feet love a thick black heel. She rocks a red lipstick like no one can.

Me? I just wear anything that shows off my ass and is comfortable for dancing. I don’t think I have any distinctive style. I’m like mish mash roots – quite like my hair colour.

We slather our necks and wrists in scents of jasmine and vanilla. A sip (bottle) of vodka, a slap on each other’s asses and we’re good to go.

Friday night, in celebration of the end of sophomore year, we hit the West side. Dancing is our therapy.  Breakbeat, r & b, dub step, house, rap, pop. The beats get our hips winding and our arms swaying above our heads, our heartbeat elevates, and our bottoms get low to the ground. We might break for drinks but meet on the dancefloor, the music like purifying water, cleansing our spirits with the feel – good vibration. This is our pleasure, our peace … our friendship in motion.

Me and my girls like the bass heavy.

We dance until our clothes wet, our feet sore (even bleeding as this weekend would have us.) We dance with nobody but each other, ignoring the men who try to rub against us. A fence of light; a whirling orbit of energy: it’s about us. Not them. We could care less.

And then we stumble home, exhausted, and in hysterics, searching for greasy food and icy drinks. We take turns sleeping over each other’s houses, giggling on who busted the best moves and about the guys we sent away with their tails between their legs.

We carry on dancing forever. That’s a promise.