Musings from the gym
Oh, no . . . only one more minute to go. I won’t find out if that cloisonné enamel box makes enough to cover what the red team spent on it . . . What! I’ve only covered 4.7 km!
Where next? Bench press – occupied. What is it with these blokes who just sit motionless on pieces of equipment with towels over their heads? How’s that supposed to work? Does communing with the spirit of the lateral pull-down machine do as much good as actually pulling down laterally?
Ah, the lateral pull-down is free . . . I’ll just move this key up about a foot. That chap’s good at skipping. I wonder what would happen if I gave it a go . . . Could I still do all the fancy stuff like a double-turn or going through a cross-armed loop backwards? Probably not. Recipe for humiliation. But would I get any takers for an elastic skipping class for the mature fitness fan?
Blimey! Look at that singlet! Do you think that’s really the thing, lady, what with you being . . . NO! I must not even think that!
What does that vibrate-y machine do? It looks as though all you have to do is apply different bits of your anatomy to it. Maybe I’ll give it a try . . . one day when there’s absolutely no one else in the gym.
Well at least I can lie down now . . . 22-elephant . . . 23-elephant . . . 24-elephant . . . can I come up a bit higher? 28-elephant . . . 29-elephant . . . 30-elephant . . . Oof! Germaine Greer was right: let’s bring back laced bodices and voluminous skirts accommodating babies, beer guts and tubes of Pringles and forget about this ridiculous obsession with having a flat stomach.
Aaarrrrgghh . . . Blerrrggghh . . . Yerrrrggghh . . . oh, my god, someone’s being sick! Bring buckets and Dettol, quick! Oh, it’s OK; it’s only that bloke doing a bit of a clean and snatch. Why don’t these weightlifters all have hernias? (And don’t they realise those six-packs just look as if they’ve got creepy mutant insect thoraxes?)
. . . coffee, tomatoes, mushrooms, lettuce . . .
. . . eight . . . nine . . oh, too late . . . my trouser legs are falling up . . . why didn’t I tuck them into my socks? Weedy white leg alert! But I can’t stop now.
Oh, no, not that track again! Why can’t they do a ‘Workout to the Classics’ session? Perhaps I’ll put it in the suggestions box. Or what about a ‘Blast from the Past’ one, with all the songs with the best tempo for exercising: Let’s Go to the Hop, Johnny B. Goode . . . and Queen and Abba strictly verboten.
. . . Can I get any nearer my toes this week? . . . No. Why not? I’ve only been doing this every week for the past 15 years, for heaven’s sake. Relax, breathe, pretend you’re not trying.
Trust me to have parked myself next to one of the kids from Fame, whose idea of a comfortable pose is to do the splits . . . Ooh, is that bit of dried mud off my trainer?
. . . Ouch! Perhaps I’m overdoing it . . . it’s feeling a bit achey along there. Perhaps it’s groin strain. Can women get groin strain? What do you do if you’ve got it? Crash the pain barrier or sit on the sofa for a week?
. . . do we need loo paper too? . . .
Last stretch . . . 28-elephant . . . 29-elephant . . . 30-elephant . . . IT’S SO BRILLIANT WHEN YOU STOP!