Gym, the final frontier March 25, 2009Posted by baldricman in Baldric-Man, General.
Tags: fitness, gym, physio, physiotherapy, trainer
I’ve spent many years hurling abuse, snide comments, and sarcastic witticisms at gym-goers, and I’ve enjoyed it. The very notion of spending hundreds a month to do exercise that could be done outdoors in fresh air, and with a view, just seems silly. (Of course I concede the point that your only idea of a good view might involve a pair of lycra tights…. in which case its a fair call)
That, and the subtle personality changes that many gym-converts seem to undergo: they start wearing stretchy t-shirts, and seem to look down a lot more. They also pick up everyday objects like coffee mugs and pencils in an entirely new manner (often with a slight, barely perceptible grimace)
And then, early this morning, at the butt-crack of dawn, bleary-eyed and feeling a little sheepish, I find myself in one. A gym that is, not a pair of lycra tights.
I’ve come armed with an excuse however: Medical Reasons. (Quick history lesson: last year I tore ligaments in my ankle, and sustained some fairly major bone bruising, and have pretty much been out of action for about 6 months. My physio has now, er, “requested” that I join a gym and start getting some low-impact exercise in, that I can’t safely get in my usual pursuits such as hiking)
My first session turns out to just be an assessment, involving various measurements for weight, bicep-size etc (I notice the trainer debating whether to use the skin-fold measuring device to achieve this), calculations for percentage body fat, blood pressure and resting heart rate etc. (all of which turns out pretty well, I’m relieved to report), and then on to some cycling, press-ups and push-ups, and lastly one horrible squat-type-thing.
And to end it all, a nice hot communal shower. So there I am in all my technicolour glory, shampoo in my eyes, sharing a shower with 4 wealthy guys all close to retirement age, discussing yesterday’s interest rate cut in relation to the upcoming elections.
All in all, the experience was not that bad, perhaps even pleasant, and my trainer has already conned me into agreeing to start eating breakfast, and has me believing I’ll be looking like Arnie in 3 months, tops.
So I’ve decided that if I’m going to do this, I might as well dive right in and try enjoy it: tomorrow I have my first real session, even earlier than today (I should be showering with the butt-crack of Don…sorry, dawn). And then I’m off this afternoon to buy some stretchy shirts, so I can join in the narcisism-fun.
PS: I still think gym is silly, just for the record. Ok?