Had a rather bizarre thing happen to me late last night. A pal of mine popped up on Facebook to say she enjoyed yesterday's entry, and that I was, in some bizarre way, inspiring.
I'm not all sure I'm evolved enough to sensitively deal with the responsibility of being inspiring to anyone, but hey, come one, come all - if you chuckle, or nod, or even bother to read, I'm happy. If you find inspiration, well blow me down, that puts a stiffening in a chap's sinews, and summons up his blood something good and proper.
So it was with a degree more vim, vigour and what PG Wodehouse described as "all round...thingness" that I approached the gym at Seriously? o'clock this morning. Sans induction, I got straight on a Dalek Bike and pedalled. Did my 500 calories, then did rather a broader variety of machine work than yesterday - largely, if I'm honest, because the lean-forward machine was always occupied. Clearly, people have heard about it, and it's the diva of the new equipment, unprepared to be left alone for a moment. I knew I was never going to get a look in when I saw someone had dumped their training belt by the side of it.
Well, I wasn't going to argue with anyone who owned a training belt - would you?
I have discovered one thing to be true today. I may have the man-breasts of a balding, aging Weeble, but I have the shoulder strength of a new-born gazelle. Hmm - things upon which much work must be expended, clearly.
Back to the gym in the morning. There's a faint creeping sense coming over me that this is actually fun.
Clearly, for the sake of humanity I should probably be euthanised at this point, before lycra once again makes an appearance in my life. But nevertheless, it is true to say that I feel better - which probably, robbed of all inspirational hoo-ha and flim-flam, means more self-righteous - for having done a couple of days of this. Let's see if I can last the week out, shall we?
No comments:
Post a Comment