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I must be a mashochist, right?
Jun. 4th, 2009 10:19 amMy sister in law and I decided after watching the contents of our wardrobe become smaller and smaller that the only solution to our problem is to go to gym.
Now I have always regarded a gym as the ninth circle of hell, hidden between Topo Shop and Sutra (dance club for jocks). But the thing is, we don't have parks and its too dangerous to go jogging around the block, so a gym is the only place to actually get fit.
When I lived in London, I walked everywhere, hauled kegs, danced the night away and stayed in shape that way. Now, nearly a year later, I lost it from a desk job sitting in front of my computer all day and not having money or energy to go out.
So Debs and I joined our neighbourhood gym. We met our trainer - Jabu (pronounced jaaa-bu). His huge, hulk like hands wrapping around our flabby upper arms with ease as he smiled wide and said: Ladies, welcome to your new lifestyle.
Debs and I nodded and smiled.
He then led us to a little console that would weigh us and calculate our BMI and body fat mass. Our results were depressing to say the least. He then set up an excersise and eating plan.
My eyes boggled at the amount of food the plan required me to eat. I could never eat that much food! I pretty much replace most meals with cigarettes as they're cheaper than a loaf of bread. Now I have to eat six times a day. SIX!!! WTF?
After the pschological torture, he then leads us to the stationary bicycles. Easy, I think to myself. I cycled home from school everyday. I can nail this! ten minutes at a speed of over 65mph. Cool.
Until I sat on the seat.
Even now I can still feel the bones of my ass grinding against the seat - through all the fleshy padding.
We then hit the treadmills. Ten more minutes at a 5% gradient (whatever that is) at 6,3 miles per hour. About 3 minutes in, my calf muscles began to complain, 2 minutes later, they were seriously bitching, by 8 minutes in, they wanted a divorce.
I climbed off the treadmill to find a water fountain, thinking that maybe if I drank something, then the water would push my heart back into my chest where it belongs. My knees had turned to jelly, which strangely enough was the usual reaction when I saw a certain man or three. But the wasn't a guitar in sight.
Jabu then leads us to the stepper of doom. 7 minutes this time and he stayed next to us to make sure we did this properly.
'Look, Jabu. I don't plan on visiting the South American pyramids, ever. That's what National Geographic is for. I work on a ground level office and my flat is only two flights up. I don't think making me walk up 30 odd flights of stairs is going to be in my best interests.'
Ok, so I never actually SAID it to my bouncer shaped trainer, but I thought it really hard.
And so we climb....
and climb....
and end up nowhere.
By then I had to throw in the towel. My heart was strangling me, my knees were failing and I was dying for a smoke. He then led us to the rowing machine. Now usually I'm ace on this contraption, but I couldn't do it.
He smiled his large african smile at us two pathetic little beings and said:
You did really well for first timers. Tomorrow we'll do two sets down here and then go upstairs for some ab toning and then back down for two more sets.
My heart, may have, at this stage, decided to kill me in my sleep.
We smiled back, nodded again and weezed our way to the car.
I'm going back tonight. I don't have a choice - none of my jeans are fitting and I'm too afraid of malls to go buy new ones.
Wish me luck!
Now I have always regarded a gym as the ninth circle of hell, hidden between Topo Shop and Sutra (dance club for jocks). But the thing is, we don't have parks and its too dangerous to go jogging around the block, so a gym is the only place to actually get fit.
When I lived in London, I walked everywhere, hauled kegs, danced the night away and stayed in shape that way. Now, nearly a year later, I lost it from a desk job sitting in front of my computer all day and not having money or energy to go out.
So Debs and I joined our neighbourhood gym. We met our trainer - Jabu (pronounced jaaa-bu). His huge, hulk like hands wrapping around our flabby upper arms with ease as he smiled wide and said: Ladies, welcome to your new lifestyle.
Debs and I nodded and smiled.
He then led us to a little console that would weigh us and calculate our BMI and body fat mass. Our results were depressing to say the least. He then set up an excersise and eating plan.
My eyes boggled at the amount of food the plan required me to eat. I could never eat that much food! I pretty much replace most meals with cigarettes as they're cheaper than a loaf of bread. Now I have to eat six times a day. SIX!!! WTF?
After the pschological torture, he then leads us to the stationary bicycles. Easy, I think to myself. I cycled home from school everyday. I can nail this! ten minutes at a speed of over 65mph. Cool.
Until I sat on the seat.
Even now I can still feel the bones of my ass grinding against the seat - through all the fleshy padding.
We then hit the treadmills. Ten more minutes at a 5% gradient (whatever that is) at 6,3 miles per hour. About 3 minutes in, my calf muscles began to complain, 2 minutes later, they were seriously bitching, by 8 minutes in, they wanted a divorce.
I climbed off the treadmill to find a water fountain, thinking that maybe if I drank something, then the water would push my heart back into my chest where it belongs. My knees had turned to jelly, which strangely enough was the usual reaction when I saw a certain man or three. But the wasn't a guitar in sight.
Jabu then leads us to the stepper of doom. 7 minutes this time and he stayed next to us to make sure we did this properly.
'Look, Jabu. I don't plan on visiting the South American pyramids, ever. That's what National Geographic is for. I work on a ground level office and my flat is only two flights up. I don't think making me walk up 30 odd flights of stairs is going to be in my best interests.'
Ok, so I never actually SAID it to my bouncer shaped trainer, but I thought it really hard.
And so we climb....
and climb....
and end up nowhere.
By then I had to throw in the towel. My heart was strangling me, my knees were failing and I was dying for a smoke. He then led us to the rowing machine. Now usually I'm ace on this contraption, but I couldn't do it.
He smiled his large african smile at us two pathetic little beings and said:
You did really well for first timers. Tomorrow we'll do two sets down here and then go upstairs for some ab toning and then back down for two more sets.
My heart, may have, at this stage, decided to kill me in my sleep.
We smiled back, nodded again and weezed our way to the car.
I'm going back tonight. I don't have a choice - none of my jeans are fitting and I'm too afraid of malls to go buy new ones.
Wish me luck!
