Karin Brynard writes: No pain, no gain

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Karen Brynard
Karen Brynard

My poor old Mum would have keeled right over if she could see me now – on my back in a room full of people, legs up and knees spread wide. 

How unbecoming, she’d say. How unladylike and uncouth, lying there like a floozy with your ‘fannygaloo’ pointing at the ceiling. You look like an upturned frog, a spatchcocked roast chicken. Worst of all, you’re paying for it. “Wider-wider-wider!” the trainer yells. “Stretch! Spread the knees! More. Feel the burn! Adductors must work!”

Adductors-adschmuctors. I’m not even sure I have those and, if I did, where on my body you’d find them. Because my everything is burning.

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