Admiring crumpet when you are a happily married person is a bit like being on a diet and standing outside your favorite patisserie just wistfully watching. I know because I’m currently on a diet. That’s right. I’m attempting calorie restriction for only about the 657th time in my pitifully life. To make matters worse I’ve been going to the gym. You’ll be most astounded to hear that there’s crumpet at the gym. In fact as a middled aged Dora might say there’s “El mucho crumpeto”. You’d think that I’d be doing the one armed bandit dance and hollering “ker-chink ker-chink” but here in Sydney’s Eastern beaches gym crumpet is mostly of the sort that wears baseball caps indoors and covers every free inch of flesh with tribal tattoos*. Whats more the gym crumpet is intimidating given my feebleness.
Just last weekend I ventured into a space I like to call the “blue room of pain”. Its the basement area of the gym devoted to the worship of free weights. There are all sorts of scary looking contraptions hanging from the ceiling. My mind boggled just contemplating the possible uses. Perhaps my mind would not boggle to the same extent had I read 50 Shades but I remain naive about that kind of thing. Anyhow I entered the torture chamber to find it occupied by what appeared to be half a football team. These lads were were imposing physical specimens – built like oak trees. I’m assuming they harked from AFL as opposed to NRL. Their handsome faces were intact and their necks were clearly delineated from their craniums. A coach dressed in compression tights and shorts spurred them on to even greater feats of endurance by fist pumping the air and yelling -“C’mon boys. Good boys!” Good boys indeed! They jumped rope, crunched abs and pounded the punching bag to within an inch of its life. The grunting was particularly passionate and expressive. I soon discovered what the ceiling devices were for – suspended chin ups. Oh my! I tell you blog fans, that’s something I will not be attempting at home.
Now my wimp of an alter ego Brenda and I were faced with a couple of choices. I favored standing there, hand on hip, stomach sucked in, adding my own words of encouragement. Those suspended pull ups deserved positive feedback. Brenda meanwhile turned an attractive shade of almost menopausal red and quietly got on with three sets of lunges before fleeing the scene. What a wussbug!
Upstairs in the main area, things aren’t much better. Muscle bound Adonis strut about like they own the place. They are constantly high-fiving each other and bragging about their sporting prowess. They hog the fit balls and stand around in front of the mirrors. The grunting is world class. Meanwhile I struggle to complete some undignified manoeuvres with the fit ball (the fun sized one) completely unnoticed. I power through light headedness and searing pain wondering why for the love of chocolate* am I going through this again. Its not as if we haven’t seen this movie before. The plot line is basically thus;
- Lose a few kgs and tone up a bit.
- Receive a few complements and feel marginally better.
- Disappointingly saddle bags persist on hips.
- Realize that I am getting diminishing marginal returns eg significantly more effort is required to make a change.
- Start actually enjoying life.
- Quit fitness kick.
- Gain back every single god damn gram.
Wasn’t it Einstein who said “insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results”? Of all the dudes worth paying attention to Einstein has to be at the top of the list.
Another dude worth listening to is Dadabulous. He has all these quaint old fashioned notions about people accepting themselves, aging gracefully and personality being more important than looks. Which is all fine for him to say. Dadabs is so called because at age 45 he still has abs. All that keyboard work must be great for toning the core muscles.
Will I see the light and abandon this folly? Doubtless I will let you know when I regain my sanity in a few weeks time. In the mean time see you on the treadmill.
Am I crazy? Got any tips for me?
As the sign on the gym wall says “train insane or stay the same”.
*Strangely the only tribe these dudes belong to is the Eastern Beaches latte set.