I've started going to the gym. It is, of course, ghastly and the sort of thing that no sane person would choose to do, except that there was a photograph the other day that left no alternative. First I had to be inducted (induced?) which meant that a trainer person (wonderful profile, I could have looked at it for hours, but an engagement ring too) took 75 minutes explaining the equipment to 4 of us. But if anyone asked, but what should I do personally, me, inkspot, the unproud owner of several chins, oh I haven't got time to answer that. When I go to the US there is a similar gym where I work and there, in the most litigious country in the world, induction means signing a chit promising not to sue if you drop a weight on your foot.
So I've no idea what to do. There's a machine with strings and pulleys and weights and I pull at that until it hurts and then I go to another machine with pedals and handlebars only it's not a bike and I press buttons until it tells me I'm doing something called cardio. It also asks me how old I am. Damned impudent, and I'm so vain that I lie to it. Yes, I lie to a fucking machine, that's how vain I am. Cardio is 85% but of what there's no indication (fat burning is 60% if that helps). Anyway if I can read it right I'm usually beyond cardio so, given how I feel, it's 85% of dead. The only funny thing is that the not-a-bike is situated in front of rather a cleverly lit mirror so while you're getting all red and sweaty and dizzy you can look at yourself and pretend that you can see a cheekbone.
Monday, 25 January 2010
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12 comments:
Ask Mr Beastie what to do. He's 'gymtastic'. Or wear a corset. And blusher to enhance the cheekbones.
Sx
Yes I was rather hoping for wise words from Beastie. Well words anyway, they'd be a start. And if I don't know what to do in a gym why do you think I know how to buy a corset?
Iinky , its all very easy , you pull and push and run and heave and moan and groan till you feel ill .....then your done , keeep that up for a few weeks and you will actually start to enjoy the down time when you can slap on your ipod and set you mind free , you will look better , be able to eat loads without worrying about it and be able feel holier than thou.......go for it my son :-)
The Beast is a better man than I.
I feel your pain Inky, my main exercise is getting in and out of the corsets.
though I have the occasional swim - that's a lot more fun than looking at red and sweaty results in a mirror
So if it feels like I'm dying then I'm doing something right? That is not what you call a win-win situation Beast, can't you do better? And a few weeks??
Nurse, the pool here is a fine pool but it's far too hot and the changing rooms are disgusting. In the summer (yes we do have a summer, it lasts 5 minutes) swimming in the river is a real treat but it's not a year-round option, trust me on this.
It's a slippery slope, Inky - and one that keeps moving, making you walk like you're going the wrong way on an escalator - and you'll soon be wearing sleeveless vests and flexing your arms whenever you're passing a mirror or a shop window.
The trouble with all this exercise is that it makes you hungrier - you'll still need the corsets
Gadj I promise it won't be soon, the natives would revolt. But one day...
Nurse and Lulu, that's 2 votes for the corsets. Will you accompany me on the shopping trip? I'm thinking Wheels and Dollbaby.
I bought my own rowing machine. This means that without needing to go to a gym or do any exercise at all, casual visitors to my house are led to believe I look after myself, in spite of the evidence of their own eyes.
Wordver: 'rebarie' - a dream experienced by a Frenchman under dental anaesthesia.
Gyppo that's brilliant, but what about when you're not in your house? Inkspot's corollary to Byard's theorem is that to cover this eventuality you have to carry the rowing machine around with you.
Hang on a minute, you could hire a dwarf to carry it around for you. Christ, I'm a genius, I'm too good for this blog.
I'm always up for a trip to Wheels and Doll Baby
Inky, you do what I do: you carry a unicycle and claim that the inner ear infection has beaten you this time.
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