I joined the gym this week. Yup. Big old me.
Going to the gym is an interesting experience. Especially for someone whose idea of exercise is doing the hoovering. Or walking the dog.
Take, for example, my induction. My introduction to the huge torture chamber with all of its machines and metal contraptions mocking me, laughing at me.
“Come over here, give me a go..” They call. So I do. I follow all the instructions written on their sides and still end up with my left leg underneath my right armpit whilst trying to pull my fingernails from my hair.
Anyway I am skipping ahead (well, crawling actually seeing as I can barely lift my legs high enough to take a step). My induction involved me, in a Monster munch t-shirt (I was trying to be ironic) some baggy track suit bottoms and a pair of old running trainers I found, still in their box, in the shed at the bottom of my garden. I’m still not entirely sure that they are mine.
So there I was, in all my fine attire, ready and raring to go. Already covered in a fine sheen of sweat from walking over to the gym from work. And the first thing the gym bunny makes me do? Get on the scales. Ouch. As if I weren’t already feeling a little awkward. Moving quickly on, he puts me through my paces in the gym, and actually I was feeling quite positive, until he put me on the treadmill at the end. And decided to talk to me for the full 17 minutes I was on it. Conversation went something like this;
HIM: So, how often are you thinking of coming here?
ME: red faced already I was thinking at least twice but er, puffpuff I will be trying to come three times a week…
HIM: That sounds good, just don’t go thinking that because you have been here you can have that plate of chips or mars bar..
ME: Oh I know.. going redder
HIM: What did you eat for breakfast?
ME: Um. Cereal bar?
HIM: hmmm… writes something I can’t see due to the sweat pouring into my eyes I eat porridge. Even in this weather. puffs his chest out a little. And lunch?
ME: um. puff puff pitta puff yoghurt puff
And so it continued. Him making me feel guilty about my eating habits whilst forcing me to climb higher and higher up this blasted treadmill. Until…
HIM: Let me just check your heart rate.. WOAH lets slow you down a bit now.
Another thing I find a bit weird about the gym is the sweat. It hangs in the air like an unseen curtain of moisture. Making you breathe it in. It is all over the machines, the floor, the toilet door.. Ugh.
One last thing. Why do women feel it is ok to swing around the ladies changing rooms stark naked? And engage you in conversation? Talk at you about random things like the spinning class, will I be tempted to join? Not if I end up looking like you love, all brown wrinkled skin with boobies that are sulking and looking at the floor. Stop showing me your boobies!
That is all.