Saturday, February 11, 2012

Sunday Gym.

On the last day he rested. It’s Sunday and I’ve already mucked out, ridden four horses and now I find myself in the gym on the initial day of a fresh weights routine. I’m reasonably sure if God did rest on a Sunday it was because his trainer thought it was a ridiculous idea to train on a weekend. In fact I’m rather sure Jesus grew up being told weekends were all about loaves, fishes and wine tastings! Less about the treadmill and the weights!
I was about to ask why I had all the stuff I’m rubbish at in my new routine but then I thought about it for more than a millisecond and it registered with me it’s because I’m so rubbish at it that I need to put it into my routine.
I’ve mentioned my aversion to grunters and grunting in the gym. Five sets in and I find myself with the selection to either have my head implode or let the most audible child labour guttural grunt. Much to the amusement of all my fellow gym goers, especially the very large guy sitting next to me who used the same weight a moment ago to scratch his very wide muscular back! I take momentary solace from the fact that when we both stand in front of the mirror assessing ourselves as one is prone to do for some unknown reason, even though his biceps are as thick as my waist his waist is as thick as my car whereas I’ve managed to keep my girlish tight trim six, almost eight pac.
As the thought of skipping the next exercise changes into only doing half the superset passes through my liquefying brain I look up to see my trainer sauntering across the weight room floor, that look of eager enthusiasm on his face again and I have no doubt he feels I should be feeling exactly the same way despite the beetroot complexion and vein popping neck. Part of bodybuilding is about being vascular and veiny which all the big guys want, I’m happy keeping the veins on my body standing out but the ones that hold my eyeballs in from exploding everytime I heave another dumbbell off the floor.
Even the notion of the next superset makes me think about vomiting, actually doing it only encourages that action further. As I scan the gym for a nearby bin or receptacle I catch the eye of that omnipresent trainer and fake a smile and start again. Maybe it’s time to pass out.
Despite all my complaining and yammering, I do actual enjoy this, testing and pushing the limits of my body, feeling and indeed seeing the progress and transformation. Now I just keep having to remind myself of that especially as grunter and I find ourselves in another face off in front of the gym mirror.