Think I'm in trouble

I don't mean the other trouble; the man trouble. Admittedly, I'm still in trouble there, especially, it seems, with my mother. But I refer to physical trouble. I'm going Ceroc dancing in about an hour and I'm not sure I will be able to manage it. My sickeningly fit friend Ian has been pestering me to go to Bikram Yoga with him for months and yesterday I finally caved.

I didn't feel too bad when I woke up. I could feel it a little in my shoulders and my calves, but overall thought I'd got away with it. Unfortunately for me I think now that it's like one of those hangovers that you don't have first thing but that come and bite you in the arse a bit later in the day. How on earth am I going to spend the evening with either or both of my arms above my head?

Having said that, it might make me a glutton for punishment, but I'm going again next Tuesday. I like yoga. I first did it about six years ago but after my ill-thought-out move back to the Midlands in 2003 I've not found a class that I liked until now. Bikram is the 'hot' yoga. This refers not to sexy but done in a warm room and trust me, there was nothing sexy about me after 90 minutes in sopping wet clothes, my hair straggled about my beetroot-red face.

Yoga is good. I have to be honest, other than dancing I hate aerobic exercise. I despise the gym. I don't think I'd mind it so much if there weren't other people in there but even so exercising on the spot is so joyless. As for aerobics classes - forget it. The only bouncing around I like to do is the horizontal kind. Yoga is perfect. It is a really good workout and makes you feel strong in mind and body but I don't need to wear a very ugly sports bra to take part.

I was amazed how much I remembered after such a long break actually. Only now I'm paying for it. Every vertebra in my back aches and my shoulders feel like I've been strung up with my arms twisted behind my back like the torture featured in 'Waking the Dead' last week. Wish me luck.

I'm also a little freaked out by how much my life is being mirrored by the episodes of Sex and The City that I'm recording on my oh-so-loved Sky + box. Today Carrie went to San Francisco to promote her new book and plans to shag Mr Big, only he's read her book and wants to discuss the intimate revelations that she made about her feelings about him rather than have sex.

My book is with a few agents, not a publisher, and my book tour is still a distant dream. So that's not the similarity. I'm not sure my current lover qualifies as a Mr Big and the only place I write about him properly is in my journal for, well, all kinds of reasons. But I am struggling with the issue of what to say and what not to say, what I can reveal and what I can't reveal, in case 'he' reads it, in case my mother reads it, in case my father does. I'm getting better, to be fair. I used to worry about what everyone would think - even total strangers. I don't worry about that so much. I know most of my friends like my writing, but even if they don't I'm past caring as long as I think it's of good quality.

I'd love an agent who likes what I've got to say and how I say it and soon after getting one of those I'd predictably like a publisher that feels the same way, but outside of that I'm still a little hung up on what those closest to me will think. It's an impossible situation. As a writer all of life is grist for the mill but with many topics I still fear revealing too much of myself; my feelings, my vulnerability.

Unlike Carrie, I'm not in a situation where I'm simply trying to get laid and as I have, in the past, laid out my hurts, I've ended up with my ex apologising rather than shagging me all night. But I do worry about the consequences of putting myself out there and saying what I feel and think and do. I'm sure we've all learned from the Abby Lee experience that blogs are not entirely anonymous. I decided to use my name in mine precisely to get over these fears. I will, given time.