Gym and I

Sunday morning = my newly found gym class. I'm not one for the gym in general. I first started going at university about seven years ago. A nice butch lady gave me a program to help me 'bulk up' (whatever that means) and I went for a few months. Then, I stopped going. I got bored.

I joined another gym a few months later. I thought this place might be more interesting. Another nice lady did another program for me. But this lady made me feel a bit ill as she insisted on standing over me whilst I did bits of her program. I think she thought I'd cheat. I'd had a cheese sandwich and a packet of salt and vinegar crisps before going to see her which probably didn't help.

Since then, I've stayed with the gym but have made practically no progress. Why? I get bored. Very easily. Where's the fun in lifting up a bar of metal attached to a couple of circley bits of metal at the end over and over again? I don't see the fascination with it. There are people in there who are always there. Whenever I go in, they're there grunting away. Now, there could be one of three possible reasons for this:

Reason Number One As To Why The Same People Might Always Be In The Gym - They have adjusted their body clocks in time with mine and we all decide to go and work out on the same days. I've heard that this often happens with girls who live together and their menstrual cycles. I don't have a menstrual cycle though.

Reason Number Two As To Why The Same People Might Always Be In The Gym - The gym has provided them with a little cupboard that they sneak in and out of. They live their lives in the gym. In the cupboard, they have all the necessities of life - bed, cooker, Sainsburys. However, they can only stay there with the agreement that any time not sleeping, cooking or in Sainsburys must be spent in the gym. This entire reason isn't very likely.

Reason Number Three As To Why The Same People Might Always Be In The Gym - They're more dedicated than me. This entire reason is most likely.

I've been trying to make more of an effort recently but - thankfully - work's been busy so I can pretend that I don't really have a lot of time to go. However, everytime I see my bank statement, I realise that the £42 I send into the coffers of Fitness First plc every month needs to be justified in some way.

So, behold the Body Power class. Basically, I go along and a man in a red T-shirt shouts things and we follow his instructions. Kind of like big bipedal dogs. It's better than working out on my own because we all do the same things together. However, most of the girls lift heavier weights than I do. I don't let that put me off.

Strangely, when 'Shouty-Shouty Man' tells us what to do and how quickly to do it, I'm always the one who's out of time with the others. So, when everybody else squats, I'm standing. When they stand, I squat. I try to correct myself but end up out of sync again. I try not to let others see that this bothers me though. I just put on a pretend 'Typical!' smirk on my face and shrug my shoulders, in case anyone's looking. Inside, I'm crying.

'Shouty-Shouty Man' called me 'Young Man' today. I call my kids at school that. I think he might have been patronising me because I was being very slow at picking up my weights. I didn't mean to be slow. Actually, I did. I was tired. But there was no need for his comment. I don't call him 'Shouty-Shouty Man' to his face, so he doesn't need to call me 'Young Man' to mine. I can't really say anything to his face though as he's taller than me so it's physically impossible.

Why?

People often do strange things when they reach certain ages. I say 'people', I actually mean 'middle aged men'. And I say 'strange things', I actually mean buy flash cars and chase much younger girls than their wives.

I turned 28 on Wednesday. Not middle-aged by a long shot. But I got there and over the last few days it's dawned on me that I have very little to show of my years between the ages of about 16 and now.

When I was really young, mum and dad took lots of photos of me as I was growing up. That's evidence of my existence on this planet. However, since then, I've got lots of bits of paper that say I did things - GCSE certificates, A-Levels, Degree, P45's - but the photos have stopped. Largely my own fault as I can't be arsed with putting cameras in my jeans. Even worse, now that I do a proper grown up job, I have no reason to even write anything for any real purpose other than work.

That's wrong. Very wrong.

Years have clearly passed by me when, okay, not a lot happened but I still had a lot to say about it. But those words are now lost. Uttered once and blown away by the breeze. I read that in a poem once. Quite liked it so suitably changed it so as to avoid any accusations of plagiarism. Things have to change or else I'll end up at 65 without a flippin' thing to my name.

So, armed with my phone - as that fits in my jeans, takes photos and doesn't annoy me - I aim to jot down as much rubbish here as I can be bothered to put down. I'll even decorate it with my photos. If I can figure it out, I'll go so far as linking to my photos on Flickr too. But, to be honest, that's given me a headache just thinking about it...