Man Flu

Both Mark and I are now in the firm and gungy clutches of that most terrible affliction to befall man, 'man flu'. 5 x more potent and at least 3.5 x more virulent than anything a woman has ever experienced, both of us have lost our voices and I am (though I expect Mark is also) hawking up plebs of green globules, the shade of which has not been witnessed since the wallpaper choices of 1970s interior decorators. Not 10 minutes ago we were communicating by Facebook chat despite the fact that we're less than 10 feet and 1 door away from each other.

Childbirth? You don't know how you're born.

Still, despite my crippling ailment, I have not reneged on my vow to get off my derriere and do something. On Tuesday I headed to Balboa Park, a lovely large mass of green (the antithesis of what I'm currently summoning from the depths of my lungs), filled with museums galleries and Spanish-style casas from the Spanish invasion (and I do mean invasion). I wasn't there just to admire the view, but to take my first yoga lesson, which I'd read about online. As I waited for the instructor I consumed my sandwiches, observing the obese red squirrels, which roam the park. No wonder our native squirrel succumbed to the invader - the American squirrels probably just sat on them until they passed out.

Now I never expected yoga to be easy. I am patently aware of just how inflexible I am. But this was almost torture in some parts. The slender - and fairly attractive - figure of my temporary yoga instructor, the voice of whom is one of the softest I've ever laid ears on - like a silk handkerchief dancing on a summer's breeze - instructed us into menagerie of animal positions such as down dog and something about a cow and a cat. With the focus on control and breathing, rather than power and speed, I was working on muscles that had taken a sickie for most of my adult life. A controlled stretch is a damn difficult procedure, and I know that if I'm to be a better climber I better fit in some yoga classes as well in order to strenghten my core. I couldn't go into crab; there was an Indian-sounding move that made me groan internally every time it was mentioned; and there was one move where you take a sitting position supported on one foot with the other leg stretched out in front. I couldn't even get off the ground on that one.

By the end of it, I was hoping for it to stop, but it when it finally did it was glorious. I lay on the grass, eyes shut with my legs bent and soles touching so the bottom half of my body was in a sort of 'O'. The sun warmed my face and I felt that relaxing fuzzy feeling I've only ever experienced once, after a free 10-minute shiatsu session at a Manga convention a couple of years ago. As I continued to lay in the warm glow, I could sense that the instructor was standing over me and then a fragrance wafted across my radar. I think it was sage.This was my Ravi Shankar, Kula Shaker moment I longed for in India. Govinda. Go-vinda!

Tony is taking the vitamin C, 1000mg 3x a day...with food. Don't worry mum, I'm golden!