Wednesday, 21 January 2009

Punchbags

This morning has been the first time this week that I've rolled out of bed without being in a considerable amount of pain.

My mother (who honestly, is only trying to help) took me to the gym over the weekend to show me a new routine to try. It's to get rid of my Pillsbury tummy, although after the gruelling workout and subsequent sauna experience, I became considerably more attached to the squishy blob.

I've never really had a predisposition to fitness, I walk to places because I'm poor, I run on machines in the gym because that way people in the street can't point and laugh. It's not about health. It's pure vanity. Vanity, and a wish to never have my trousers split when I bend down to say, tie my laces or pick up a pie (my greatest fear). There's nothing bad about gyms, they're quite therapeutic in a sadistic kind of way. The punching, the running, the lifting; it's like being in a gangster film for an hour (lifting bodies out of a limo boot - see, I did think that simile through). It's the bit afterwards that's a bit of a problem, because waking up feeling like you got chased through town by an angry mob for the entire previous day while being mauled by dogs doesn't put you in the correct mood for work. If anything, the only activities you'll be any use for is lying in bed eating Domino's (ham and mushroom) and watching Jeremy Kyle until you're sick. And even that'll hurt, because those crunches have successfully disintegrated your ribcage.

Moaning about it isn't going to make working out any easier though. "Working out". I hate that phrase. "I just had a really good work out". Shut up. Prick. It's something necessary if you live a sedentary life like me, and that's just the way it is. I enjoy eating mashed potato with cheese in and continually refreshing my computer screen for hours on end. This means if I don't want to die in my forties (probably not) I need to do something uncomfortable 3 times a week to stop the yummy cholesterol from choking my heart like a deranged euthanasia nurse. You give, you take. Just put your head down, leg lift until you feel queasy, and try not to make eye contact with sweaty members of the public.

Now that I'm able to do basic tasks like putting a jumper on and then taking it off again without falling to the floor in agony, the good news is that I can go back and do some more training this evening. Fantastic. I'm not going in the sauna though. It's terrifying in there. An enclosed space, 80 degrees Centigrade, with strangers talking to me while they're NAKED. Please, I can't even manage when a checkout person asks me if I want a carrier bag. I had an asthma attack last time, god knows what I'd do without the calming influence of a relative - oddly, scenes from Rambo are springing to mind.

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