The Hoofer: Anyone can do the Wenger workout

In my previous capacity as a football reporter, I had the privilege of reporting on Arsenal in the autumn years of their redoubtable back four: Lee Dixon, Tony Adams, Martin Keown and Nigel Winterburn.

Dixon, Adams, Keown and Winterburn had frustrated strikers for season after season, long after men of their age were supposed to descend to the lower divisions. On one memorable afternoon against Southampton a couple of seasons ago, the quartet's combined age was 136. (When Steve Bould replaced Tony Adams with four minutes remaining it pushed 140 – add David Seaman's age and the running was nudging a very good darts score.) And just one word explains this sinew-defying longevity: stretching.

Since the arrival in N5 of Arsène Wenger, a footballer's dedication to his craft is assessed by his ability to sit on the grass and stretch (rather than gambling, drinking or crashing sports cars into lampposts).

If stretching could prolong the career of a footballer as traditional as Tony Adams, what could it do for an old hoofer like myself? I had the chance to find out last weekend as our match had been cancelled for the second week running due to a waterlogged pitch and I attended a beginner's yoga class at the local gym instead.

Expecting deep-breathing, karmic stretching and a verse or two of Clannad, I was wrongfooted as soon as the class started. Our instructor had clearly enjoyed Louis Gossett Jr's performance in An Officer and a Gentleman and was a woman determined to put the "Yo!" into Yoga. The entire class was ordered against the wall and made to squat in the manner of a chair – back straight, legs at right angles. For the first couple of minutes this was uncomfortable. As the pain became unbearable, I began to have fond memories of uncomfortable.

Things got worse. The low point of the afternoon was "the plum" – so-called, presumably, because it leaves those reckless enough to attempt it a rich shade of purple. It involves relocating your lap to a point above your face; for a reason too complicated to explain here, this is done with the aid of a chair. My chin crushed into my sternum, we were instructed to touch the floor with our toes somewhere behind our ears. Any further instructions passed me by as blood pounded around my temples. It was a position I had last adopted in early adolescence (when I fell out of a tree while collecting conkers).

"Tell yourself," our instructor growled later as we lay exhausted on our mats, " 'From the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, I am now feeling relaxed.' " This was asking a lot, and I'm not sure my self would take it too well. So, I reworked the mantra: "From the burning in my thighs to the painful twinge in my back, I am now in a state of woe."

At the end of the session my respect for Wenger's methods had deepened. Of course, it must be tough fending off the likes of Emile Heskey and Patrick Vieira for 90 minutes. But anything's possible if you can survive 60 minutes of yoga. Now that's a hard game.