I went to the gym today. And decided none of that namby pamby cardio for me, I’m going to do some weight training.
Okay, the weight training was triggered off by some serious weight gain issues. I’ve been eating like a bloody pig that’s been on ecstasy and dancing all night. Bheja, biryani, rum and coke have been my staple diet for two weeks.
And anyway, I’m thinking what’s the big deal. I do yoga. I do belly dancing. Dude, I can crunch my stomach anytime.
So I land up at the gym bright and early at 7am. Secretly hoping it will be empty. But a mind boggling number of nut jobs are already there, fully into it.
So I gather my courage and step into the ring, with my trainer for company. The rest is all a lesson in complete humiliation. She’s yelling at me the whole time, bitch. I would have joined the army if I wanted someone screaming into my ear, “ Go, go, go, kill yourself, pick that weight, now lift your arms, look straight, chin up, oh yes, you can, even if you die.”
Every single person around knew this was my first time. Because I looked like roadkill. I could barely get myself off the ground by the time it was over. I was staggering up and down the stairs, my vision blurring over with sweat and pain as the trainer bounced along and yelled, “ Run faster baby faster...”
Who the fuck are you calling Baby lady? And get your screaming face off my ear, before I bite it.
Nope, I didn’t say anything liked that. I was too wiped out, too beaten to even whimper. So at the end of it all when she barked see you on Friday morning, all I could say was, “thanks, I’ll be there.”
And now, some strange muscles in my stomach hurt. And my arms have died, and left my body. I shall be having a condolence meeting this evening for the said body parts. With butter bheja and rum and coke for company.
image credit: http://www.offthemarkcartoons.com