Painful realisations in the gym

For those of you who are not the worlds best athlete, for whom athleticism means raising an arse cheek to fart, you will probably have experienced the overwhelming thought, at least once in your life, that it is about time you did some exercise. And most of us have had that conversation in the mirror. You stand there in your bright purple Y-fronts, looking at your body where parts are heading to the floor faster than a hookers forehead, and you think, 'why are my nipples as elongated as the face of Edvard Munch's 'Scream' painting?'. In fact, everything is becoming a little more 'squidgy' around the edges!

If you are one of the lucky ones, where you haven't had that nagging stab of guilt, then cherish this time. For you, every day is a joy to behold, and every beer is like the pure elixir of life that turns you into a bundle of raging hormones waiting to be unleashed. However, for the rest of us, every beer we consume means 5 extra minutes of pure un-adulterated hell on the treadmill and more 'Friday the 13th' looks in the mirror.

Having recently been through one of these realisations, I have started to actually utilise the gym membership I have been paying for since I was in the womb. So far I am doing pretty well, 4 times a week religiously for the last 3 weeks, and am starting to see the results. But this all comes at a price. My self respect is taking a beating every time I go.

One thing is, every time I am trying to squeeze out my last bench press, pressing the combined weight of two v-large pork chops, I look over and see Mr. Motivator lifting the combined weight of two small villages. I know I am never going to be like our Governor here in California, but I am in touch with that emotion and I don’t worry about it. But why oh why, do I have to look across and see that meat head next to me grinning like he is expecting me to fall down under the weight of my sweat-ridden t-shirt.

The second reason, is as much as I don’t like the way meat head is sneering at me, I end up doing exactly the same on some other defenseless exercise victim in some sick Darwin-esque survival of the 24hour fittest. With my friend next to me, we bark words like, “Come on, 2 more” & “You can do better than that you pussy!”. Those were the words uttered to me by my friend, as we were trying to complete the 3rd set of reps of incline fly's at the gym. At that point I realised I had become all that I was trying to avoid. And although it pains me to admit it, if it means I can have 4 beers and not feel like I have to hit the deck and give anyone 20, then screw it, I am ready for another set!!