May and the model workout

– Which almost meant her end –

As you here you could read, the gym and I don't seem destined for each other. And while I do, really, exercise and like to keep my body in check. Especially with all the Christmas bacchanals coming up.

When I received an invitation to attend a workout at the Amsterdam hotel W, I decided to accept it. I would have been in this hotspot right away. Then I was told , so if you can have this color, it’s really a must. But actually, all the shades from HEMA are incredibly tempting. that the ‘sports teacher’ was Olivia Cooney. A London Jet, I might say, who screams all the Famous Brits into a six-pack. Since we would quite like to scout Olivia for our international Amayzine version, Elke came along too.

At one minute to ten, I sped in my Renault Captur into Spuistraat. There was no time to look for a parking spot, so I asked the friendly valet if he could park my car. “Only for hotel guests, ma'am.” “But I'm here to work out, and I'm dining in the restaurant tonight, doesn't that make me a hotel guest?” I tried, but the man was resolute. Luckily, I saw an empty spot three parking spaces further where some oil ball had put two bicycles. Captur on the blinkers, bicycles against the wall (that's where they belong after all) and smoothly I turned my car into the parking spot and I was just in time for the class.

Elke was already waiting for me. “There are only Elite models here!” I heard despair in her voice. Thank goodness the room had no mirrors. And Olivia herself, although muscular and strong, had a nice layer of humanity over her bones. We waved ten-kilo weights, did 100 push-ups (not in a row, mind you) and I did all sorts of exercises I had never done before and probably won't do again. I can say that three days later, namely. I feel my body and around it a harness of muscle pain.

During the class, suddenly the parking guy walked into the classroom. “You parked your car in one of our valet spots,” he said. I tried to say that I was ‘from the press’ and would write a glowing piece about the W. The nice man said he would turn a blind eye this one time, so I took my car key (valet guys always appreciate that) and slipped him a twenty-euro note.

The class continued and was so tough that at one point I didn't care whether this was a real parking guy or if he had driven off with my Captur, laptop, and two Chanel bags that happened to be in the trunk.

When Elke and I stumbled down the stairs (the model girls had long since skipped away), the car guy was patiently waiting for us. My red Captur was immediately in sight, he had taken good care of it and with him ‘I could always do business’ if I was late next time.

I will certainly do that. If I’m still alive, at least.