I was sitting on the hotel terrace watching the boats bob just offshore. When my breakfast arrived it was, as it had been every morning that week, exactly what I'd ordered. A fluffy toasted muffin. Smoked salmon. Hollandaise. And on top, soft and perfectly runny, a poached egg. Just the way I like it. For most of my life I wouldn't have known how I liked my eggs. Not really.

I decided it would be a great idea to take my training outside on Friday. Yes, the day that felt like wading through soup. The ground was slightly sloped. Not flat like a gym floor. And Nora turned up. She does not usually bother me during handstands. She knows I've got it. Except I was on grass. In a heatwave. And suddenly I did not have it.

Five playlists. Absolutely zero pep. One increasingly confused birthday gym-goer running slower than a tortoise, staring at Spotify like she had forgotten what music was for. Then I remembered a song I had heard coming from a houseboat on a dog walk. I put it on. Immediately. Back in the zone.

"Can you do that on two skateboards?" It doesn't take much for me to get on board with a wild plan. Dearest Reader, the ridiculousness began. It turns out you cannot perform a Caterpillar Pushup on two skateboards when you are laughing so hard that you are essentially crawling along the gym floor in a direction that could generously be described as forward.