Crazia Gymnasia!

[Guest]

Before you ask, I don't think those words are real... check them in a dictionary if you really want to know.

Anyway.

The latest of my clearly very intelligent ideas was to join a gym. Boy was that a strange choice. These places are like parallel universes! They have strange mechanical beasts ready to bend and stretch human people every which way but Saturday!

So. I had made the decision, and the next step was to go to the place and actually physically sign up for it. Off I hopped, on a bus, which was seemingly made out of several shopping trolleys held together with old washing lines, it was so rickety. Normally I'd be prepared for most things, but I wasn't for this.

So, before I went to the gym, I headed for a sports shop... to buy things that make me look like I'm about to try to be athletic. Fail. The shorts I bought ripped, the trainers were like kicking a cactus up the arse and getting your foot stuck, and the T-shirt made me look like I was about to audition for a boy-band. Still, I was very determined to join the gym!

So I went in through the shiny entrance, past some people who simply had to have been on steroids or something, they were bulked up like the Incredible Hulk bulking up for a strong-man competition by eating raw eggs and small donkeys.

I approached the front desk, and the really happy sounding woman greeted me, and offered me a seat at one of the membership desks. Which were be-windowed and gave a clear view of the swimming pool area. It was almost as if they were trying to make me feel guilty for being fat.. or something like that. So I filled out all the paperwork, pocketing the pen I was using discreetly (pens are like gold dust in our house!) once it was all done.

As soon as I had confirmed that my money was going to them it was like they clasped a ball and chain to my ankle, then asked me to scale three flights of stairs to get to my induction. I thought 'Jeez... this is an awful long way to ask me if I've had any heart attacks lately' as I got to the really incredibly tiny induction room (which doubled as a handy broom cupboard) where this stupidly skinny woman was waiting.

I tried using my sense of humour to make the induction less boring, but it seems they have some kind of filter that blocks out anything funny. Nevertheless I tried... Fail again. My sarcastic witticisms fell on deaf ears for the majority of the time, but those that actually did register were met by the most half-arsed chuckle I ever heard a really skinny person muster. It was kind of like 'eheh'.

Finally, I was to be let loose on the equipment... or so I thought. The woman took me to a treadmill, and proceeded to tell me about it as if I'd never seen one before. A bit of an insult, I thought, but then I quickly realised that I hadn't actually seen one before, and wondered how the hell the thing worked. So she got on it to demonstrate how this thing called 'running' was done, and also it's distant cousin known as 'jogging', or as Ron Burgundy suggested it was pronounced, 'yogging'. I was intrigued.

Then we got to this really weird contraption, with two foot shaped buckets attached to some sticks. She called it a 'cross-trainer'. I thought she meant that it trains people to be somewhat annoyed, but she meant cross country walking, I guess. Either way, she demonstrated it, and as I was mesmerised by the TV that was hanging from the ceiling, she carried on talking. I missed most of it, but caught the end of it when she said "...and you'l really feel it in your buttocks". The cheeky madam!

My induction was complete. I was now a fully fledged gym member. So I promptly went home and never returned.

That's what I heard people do at these places. I thought it was a bit of a waste of money, but who am I to argue with a miniscule work-based discount?

As I was leaving, I found it a little unusual to see four fast food restaurants within 500 yards of the gym. I entered the second one. I was tired from my intensive workout and wanted to treat myself.

So, all in all, it was a very constructive day. Apart from when the old lady stopped me and asked if I was auditioning for a boy-band. Then I was annoyed and gave her a polite nudge towards an oncoming nun. Then I had to run from the nun because she had a taser. What a workout I was getting! All that listening in the gym had helped me avoid a taser-toting nun! I could feel the benefits already!