Discovering that I'm a bit of a fat bastard, I signed up to the gym.I hadn't been inside a gymnasium since I broke my best friend's arm in a bizarre vaulting horse accident in school, but putting this trauma behind I ventured into the room full of torture equipment and consenting adults.
After nodding through the safety briefing, I spent the next few visits tentatively trying out the various implements, finding that I could – in fact – cycle to the gym and then spend the next hour or so in the company of a cycling machine before cycling home.
Or, run up and down stairs at work all day, just to pay for the privilege of doing the same on a stepper.
However, not actually having a boat, I set my sights on the rowing machine.
And there, hammering away ten to the dozen, was a familiar figure. Man-mountain Sir Steven Redgrave, in fact. Jesus, he gave it some punishment in what he said was "won't keep you long - just a bit of a warm-up".
Hardly breaking a sweat, and tipping me a knowing wink, Sir Steve strolled off and left the rower for me.
Well... if it was THAT easy.
He had the tension turned up so high I couldn't even move it, so I switched to the second lowest setting and pushed myself out into the murky waters. There were women of the opposite sex present, so I thought it best to make the right kind of impression.
Redgrave had gold medals for this kind of thing. I could give him SERIOUS competition if I set myself to it.
Jesus, I gave it some punishment.
I rowed and rowed and rowed until I was knackered. Looking at the stopwatch, I realised I'd only been on it for 45 seconds, and I was half dead already.
The women of the opposite sex were tootling away on the bike machines, flipping their way through copies of Take A Break, while I was killing myself TO DEATH in the name of MANLINESS.
Not to be put off, I kept going.
And going.
And going.
Until I was sick down my front.
I crawled - CRAWLED - back to the changing rooms, was sick some more and left, pausing only to be sick inna hedge, never to darken their door again.
Exercise: It's bad for you.
23 comments:
FURST!!
Is it something about rowing machines - first time I tried one I nearly fainted on the damn thing.
Ooh second
Sir Steve Redgrave. Not actual size.
I don't suppose anybody told you about how to go about figuring out the correct heart rate for your self for aerobic exercise. Their is a amongts other rates a do not exceed heart rate or you will puke, get sick, and possibly die. First you will need to determine your resting heart rate. Have Mrs. Duck wake you up in the morning with a cattle prod and .............wait...that's not it. Never mind.
I refuse to go to gyms based on the fact that they are inhabited by perfectly coiffed and made up housewives tootling along on the exercise bikes barely breaking a sweat while reading a copy of the Womans' Monthly, or No Idea or somesuch.
My dogs and I go out in the mornings. They don't care what I look like, they don't dob if I'm sick inna river, and they don't mind if I cheat and stop for a coffee halfway along.
Careful Scary, you could have a stroke on one of those rowing machines.
Squeakypony: I resent the implication that I ...er... never mind
Groans @ Squeakypony
Ah. The 40-something fitness panic. You will try exercise, overdo it, try again in 6 months time then decide a 20 minute round-trip to the corner shop is sufficient exercise and you'll tackle your diet as well in a smug, self-assured mode of thought that doing these two things will (a) keep the grim reaper at bay for another few years and (b) make you attractive to the younger ladies.
It'll be orange juice and Special-K / All-Bran for breakfast from now until you retire and can no longer afford it. No more bacon filled croissants and coffee. They should rename 'Benecol' as 'Middle-age Spread'.
Our local gym car park is always full of 4x4s not bikes.
Pseudonymph - not my gym. I always win the singing loudest competition, with the added spice of getting the notes and most of the words wrong.
As Debster said : Seriously, SERIOUSLY surprised that the Gym didn't assign you someone to check your heartrate etc. and write an exercise regime.
Over here they HAVE to, as part of their insurance.
Poor, poor Duckuss.
Just do what I do if I want to excersise, and drive faster.
Sick inna hedge, how I've missed ye.
My gym isn't like that either. People actually go to exercise vs. preen and look at themselves in the mirror.
I used to be a member of one of those David Lloyd gyms.
One day I was showering, when who came in and started lathering himself down right beside me? Steve Backley, javelinist extraordinnaire!
I tell you one thing, it's no fluke he's so good at manhandling such a long instrument.
You couldn't miss the damn thing!
Serves you right for trying to exercise your way out of a mid-life crisis. Do what every sane man should do when confronted by this event: buy a sports car.
Anonymous: Where exactly was this gym then?
That's the trouble with you younger ones today, you've got no grit or determination. You never finish what you start.
In my younger days I used to run 200 miles every day before breakfast then cycle 72 miles to work, dig 14 acres and plant 6 tons of potatoes before cycling 120 miles back home!
Eee lad, you don't know you're born!
Where's this famous stiff upper lip? (I know, it's just above the lower flabby one!)
@ Steve Dix - I nevver said nuffin. I like to see men on their knees.
Keith: did it ever bother you having to spleep 48 miles from home?
Pseudonymph: We too have a plethora of pampered pooch poo pickers perambulating their pets around our patch each morning. Personally I don't think they're actually picking the droppings up - they just go through the motions.
p.s. Yay for the traditional vomit on Friday.
Bought-breasted, bronzed, babbling, bleach-blonded, bikini-baring bimbettes.
Bringing shame on the rest of the double Xs.
So here's what I hate about going to the gym:
1. People who try to talk to me while I'm working out.
2. People who grunt loudly to demonstrate they are pushing themselves to the limit.
3. People who don't break sweat.
4. People who sign up for a year and disappear after a couple of visits.
5. People who listen to iPods whiloe working out.
Err, having re-read this, it would seem I just don't like people.
As the one who suffered the broken arm (actually it was a shattered thumb) at the webbed feet of scaryduck in the school gym I enjoyed the rowing incident enormously. actually, I am the prowd owner of a concept2 rowing machine (as advertised by - all hail - Sir Steve and even have a few boats). I am so please to hear that he puked his guts up. At last my twisted thumb feels a bit better!
Simon - welcome to the club! That's why we're all on the internet...
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