Fitness Prison

I've been going to the gymnasium.

As you may have suspected, this is the first time I've been a regular at a gymnasium. I've always been a bit intimidated by all the guys with mutant arms that lift the big weights and stare at you with their steroid eyes as you walk past them on the way to the places where you don't have to lift things.

But not the cross-trainer. I don't understand cross-trainers. It's not quite a run. It's not quite a bike. Is it supposed to synthesise Nordic skiing? Why is that a thing? Whenever I try and use it I feel too much like I'm trying to stop a poo coming out. And that's just not something I want to recreate.

I'm not a massive fan of treadmills either (I'd much rather be outside - between the traffic and the smog it's not really an option here) but that is very much my exercise of choice; so much so that I get proper gymsnob if I can't get one. "What!? You're walking at 6kph with a zero incline!? Are you recovering from a spinal injury!? Well then, how about you just walk around me whilst I do proper exercise!? No, I don't care that you're 76!" (Ooh, I used exclamtion marks. I feel dirty.)

Fave thing about the treadmills is that they have the mirror view of the gym. Turns out that there's a whole heap of people-watching that you can do in a gym. I've got some faves. Well two faves to be precise.

I like sinister Harry Potter. Imagine if Daniel Radcliffe had played the young Snape. This guy has his looks and all his mannerisms. He skulks around in the darkest corners, wearing jeans and sandals (which is a look). Every five minutes or so he will emerge from under a rock and do a thirty-second burst of reps before vanishing again, like an inappropriately-attired gym-ninja. Or, more accurately, a creature from a rockpool.

I also like one of the mutant arm men. He has the biggest arms of anyone in the gym. They're about the size of my waist. He's pretty much always there; lifting too-heavy weights and taking pictures of his arms in the mirror (nope, not a joke). But always his arms. Never his legs. He wore shorts last week, his legs are the size of my arms. It's like he's got his body on upside down. How does he not topple over? I don't understand that and I don't understand gyms.

Ooh, I talked about weights for most of a blog post. What happened? Quick get some dystopian fiction. It's the only way you'll know you're in the right place.

What's that? You quite liked The Handmaid's Tale but thought there wasn't enough focus on the black market chili trade? Well then, you should probably read The Core of the Sun. Best opening scene of a book that I can remember. By best I mean weirdest,  but you knew that, right?