Gym fail

The benefits of exercise are blindingly obvious when you are sitting on the couch feeling guilty about eating yet another piece of cherry nougat. All I can think about at that stage is how much healthier I feel after exercise, how much better I eat after exercise and how wonderful it feels to be fit enough to run 8km’s in the mornings without keeling over half-way from exhaustion. I felt this familiar nagging sensation after eating a steak laden with creamy red wine sauce on Friday night, after polishing off an insanely scrumptious chicken lasagna with ‘The Hot Fisherman’ on Saturday evening and after licking my plate clean of any visible traces of chocolate croissant on Sunday morning. After spending a considerable amount of time weighing up the beauty and informational benefits of an extra hour of shut-eye followed by an hour of long-distance stalking of Will Smith through the E True Hollywood Story vs. going to gym, I finally let ‘The Hot Fisherman’ bundle me into my car late Sunday morning.


After spending a small fortune on two bottles of water (I chose an expensive brand of water which is supposed to be equivalent to taking vitamins – great marketing gimmick that) we finally loped through the turnstiles of the gym. Coughing up half a lung and sneezing from the insult of chlorine on our mucous membranes, ‘The Hot Fisherman’ and I ascended the stairs to the weights section. There, we performed a series of death defying exercises such as:

• A gazillion lunges with 6 kilo weights in each hand,

• Squats with weights,

• Quadriceps extensions,

• Hamstring curls,

• Abduction exercises or the ‘Yes/No machine’ as The Hot Fisherman refers to it,

• Leg press AND

• Ab exercises

Finally, after an hour of torture, ‘The Hot Fisherman’ and I limped out of the gym to the car.

The second day after gym is always the worst. The benefits of exercise are no longer relevant when you wake up in the morning with legs so stiff that the only way you can get yourself mobile is to walk with straight knees. I am a walking stick man...or woman. It looks like my legs have been placed in Plaster of Paris. Forrest Gump in braces has got nothing on my limp. Worse still, my bum is so stiff that every time I sit down I have to let loose a little groan of pain like an old lady after a hip transplant. I have to hold onto the railing when ascending stairs as I may pass out from the throbbing in my quads and I am considering buying some ice during my lunch break to attempt to reduce the inflammation in my calves (I had to wear high heels this morning because it was physically impossible for me to put my heels on the floor). This evening, I will most definitely make a date with Will Smith on my couch and that piece of nougat I have been saving will never taste sweeter.

Nom nom nom

I have a bit of a morbid fascination with gyms. They are strange places and they seem to attract some very interesting stereotypes. It makes me wonder whether gyms buy the stereotypes online and have them delivered in little labeled boxes. Let me illustrate:


Body Nazi’s:

This package includes tribal tattoos, bulging biceps and tiny calves, army haircut, visible scars, skin-tight gym shirt or vest, golden-orange skin and a heavy southern accent. Known to use at least one of the following words after every sentence: ‘boet’, ‘bra’ (as in brother and not as in the underwire garment), ‘right hey’ or ‘shweet’.

Desperate housewives:

Includes fake boobs, pink lip-gloss, frilly bra, tight gym pants with matching low-cut top and towel and bleach blonde or dyed black hair. This package comes doused in perfume and is often seen hanging around the water cooler or weights section. Been known to dig her manicured nails into innocent young boys and beefy, body Nazi’s if given half a chance.

Peacocks:

Includes a majority of the items in the desperate housewife package except these girls are half their age, don’t smile, never seem to break a sweat and never leave the cardio or mat sections. Looking good is top priority and therefore doing something which expends energy at gym jeopardizes this. These girls are on ‘display’ and therefore come fully clad in all the latest gym kit with matching I-pod.

Salmon:

These guys spend their entire life in the gym working out until they are pink-in-the-face and exhausted. Ultimately, they get screwed in the end with a fairly tragic outcome - they never get any bigger.

Elephants:

Usually pair up with the Body Nazi’s or are found in pairs. These guys barge in, make a lot of noise, drop weights on the floor and broadcast to the entire gym in their trumpeting voice how many weights they can lift. These packages move through the weights section leaving devastation and sweat patches in their wake.

Tourists:

People who attend one class, once a week, pretend that they are practically dying in the class and leave half an hour before the class ends. Usually overweight, wear tight Lycra leggings and large baggy t-shirts.

Yuppie schoolboys:

Vest or t-shirt, shorts, sneakers, protein shake and I-pod. Always found in the weights section, usually in pairs. Aim to lift the heaviest weights possible in order to catch the eye of a Skinny, no-fun package as she walks past.

I am not sure what I would define myself as. Definitely not any of the stereotypes above. I always wondered how girls looked so perfect at gym because I look more like a blushing beetroot after a work-out. I suppose I could categorise myself as a hamster. I am the type of person who goes to gym to run on the hamster wheel, just so that I can go home and stuff my pouches with delicious food and not feel guilty! Running on a treadmill is the most mind numbing exercise, but when you can’t get out of your cage to run on the road, what else is there to do? :)