Lowering myself into my chair, I gritted my teeth. Ah, that’s better, I thought, sinking into the cushions.
It was last March, and I was in agony, suffering constant shooting pains in my joints.
I was completely exhausted, and it showed.
‘You alright, love?’ my husband Bob, 59, asked.
‘Just sore,’ I replied.
I was a gran of eight, but only 63 – I shouldn’t feel this frail yet!
In that moment, I decided I had to get fit again.
But how?
A week later, in the city centre, I was handed a leaflet for a local kickboxing class.
Looks fun, I thought.
Extreme perhaps, but just what I needed.
‘I think I’ll give it a go,’ I told Bob that evening.
He seemed shocked at first, but he supported…