Last week, I went against everything I believe in. I joined a gym. I was thinking about Richard Simmons and how much we look alike in our coiffed hairdos, so I figured the next logical step would be to try and get fit so that I can wear the shiny satine shorts and muscle back t-shirts that he sports so well. Oh... and the fact that Fat Fighters aka Weight Watchers alone just isn't cutting it anymore. Sure, the lard is coming off.... just not fast enough for my liking. So - the gym..
My induction was on Monday night. If I'm honest, I was really looking forward to it. I can't remember why...
Anyway. 10 minutes before I was meant to leave, I heaved my sorry patoot off the couch (my one true nemesis) and went to get changed in to the usual gym type garb. Only to find that I didn't actually have anything suitable. I don't know why, but I'd assumed I'd have stuff to wear. I found an old pair of jogging bottoms that I'd bought a few years ago (and quite a few stones ago) and they were far too big and far too short. I'm sure the proportions of these trousers would've been best suited to an extremely rotund oompa loompa. I figured they'd need to do, as the only other option was to wear shorts. And to be honest, the world will never be ready to see my legs. Especially cos I shaved them 2 days before, so they were dangerously stubbly, and the last time they saw sun was 1986.
So, I rocked up to the gym, white ankles showing, and bristles ... well, bristling. But nothing was going to stop me. This was a step that had to be made and no amount of embarrassing wardrobe malfunctions was going to stop me.
Of course, I had to have my induction at a peak time. Folk were everywhere, pumping iron, shedding pounds and there were no other dodgy jogging bottoms in sight.
The guy showed me round and gave me a plan of action. And action being the word! I think he's trying to kill me. But I was too proud to say it! So I gave it what for on that treadmill... And nearly died after 2 minutes.
So - I'm bearing all here. I'm sharing my gym secret, cos now it feels like cos I've told you all, I'll feel somewhat required to go, in case you check up on me. Not that I want you to check in on me. You probably won't get an answer anyway... I'll be lying unconscious somewhere at the side of a treadmill with my trousers up round my thighs... shouting on the revered name of Richard Simmons to help me in my hour of need.