Thursday, 21 February 2013

Gymtastrophe

So feeling pretty pleased with myself for not only dragging my tired ass to the gym at 7am, but for really 'going for it' seeing as I accidentally ending up with Mexican plans for lunch and Indian plans for dinner (not greed: the Mexican is free and the Indian is for charity, aren't I selfless?)

Every time I go to the gym before work I inevitably have to shower. I do not believe in public nudity, no matter how smooth and supple my skin is compared to the sixty year old bazongas I see in a morningly basis. I have my system and it works.

It is a risky system, however. It involves taking a towel and new pants to the shower with me. Which would be fine if the shower cubicle wasn't small and the forcet wasn't controlled by a sensitive, large button. Each time I reach precariously for my towel and pants (at this point I ask WHY, GOD, WHY DO YOU NOT ALLIGN YOUR HOOKS WITH THE OPENING OF THE DOOR, VIRGIN?? Why must I reach across to the hinge to pick up my dignity sized towel? Design flaw central) I make sure I am not so close to the door that my naked flesh touches it, but far enough away so I do not accidentally hit the water button in an unfortunate vigorous drying incident.

Most days I am successful. Don't get me wrong, I've performed this drill many times in my head. If the water does come upon me I will shoot my right arm in the air, saving my dry items, and use my left to hit the water button and resume as normal.

Today all did not go to plan. I hit the button and then everything went into slow motion. I heard the guzzle of the water about to exude from the pipe above my head and quickly whipped my towel high into the air, skillfully reaching to press the water button again. However as I looked towards the button I saw a white flutter out of corner of my eye, and had to watch, helpless, as my clean pants floated in the soapy puddle at my feet.

There was nothing I could do.

Cue me sliding out of the cubicle, in just a towel, spending five minutes under a hairdryer and the glare of 5 naked old ladies whose eyes seemed to say 'Why did you take your pants into the shower?'

Gymtastrophic.

Friday, 21 December 2012

On the Third Gym of Christmas, Virgin gave to me... An advent calendar of blood, sweat and tears

She called it "Christmas Combat", even though the real "Christmas Combat" is on Monday. I felt cheated.

But this week Body Combat featured some truly horrific countdowns, and believe me there were no festive pictures of chocolates behind the door.

Seriously, who counts things down from 32!? I'm having to adjust my positioning so I can type without lifting my elbows after completing 64 punches and around 128 high knees.

She did offer us Quality Street at the end but seeing as half my internal organs felt like they were in the wrong place I thought I'd better give it a miss until they had settled and I wouldn't accidentally swallow a toffee into my kidneys.

Owwee.


Tuesday, 18 December 2012

On the second gym of Christmas, Virgin gave to me... Will Power and Grace™

Two things I have very little of.

This class is new, to me, because it has literally never been listed as a class online or on the wall timetable - yet apparently it's been running for a year and today was the last day to try it. Lucky me, eh?

The online picture gave it three sweat drops, so I figured it would be tough. And I was not disappointed.

There were only four of us taking the class, which apparently is the magic number for breaking down the fourth wall. One lady told me all I'd need were my bare feet, which luckily I had with me, so I stripped off my trainers and socks and was immediately ashamed of my chipped, green toe nail vanish.

I found a spot between the little pile of mud and a pool of what I hope was not sweat, and waited to "rock and roll" as the instructor chirpily announced.

I'm not sure what I was expected. Possibly a lively, slightly homosexual comedy romp. Possibly an aerobics class with some ab work. But a body conditioning/pilates/ballet class combo was definitely not that. Seriously the instructor must be built like a rock, and she was unbelievably Grace™ful. There were a lot of squats and lunges in there, with extra crazy things like lifting your heels from the floor whilst in the squat position. And something I was actually very good because it resembled when you have both hands on red on a Twister™ mat and then you have to put your  feet on red as well. I never thought my slight obsession with bringing out the Twister™ mat would finally pay off one day.

Being able to see myself in the mirror from various angles (including the the corner of the mirror where the illusion was that my reflection was doing the opposite to me... weird) completely confirmed I have as much Grace™ as an Ent and I certainly lack muscle length in my legs. I'd say my Willpower™ is passable though.

The class got harder and harder and I don't think I've ever experienced happiness like the moment she said "We only have ten minutes left" and I realised it was a 45 minutes class, not a 60 minute class.

At the moment I feel pretty nifty but the chances of me being able to walk tomorrow are virtually zero. Luckily office Christmas party wine will no doubt loosen me up.

Class gets 8/10. It would have got 9 had it not been a ghost class that no longer exists.

Thursday, 13 December 2012

On the first Gym of Christmas, Virgin gave to me... A Megafix Workout Workout

As an introduction, I am going to attempt to go to the gym 12 times between now and the 12th of Jan, roughly one month. And I shall blog for everytime I go.


The Thursday 7am Body Conditioning class is the only one I can go to before work, all the rest don't give enough time for me to resume my usual professional look and carry on to work afterwards. Or so I think. Lots of people go to the gym before work, or even during lunch time, and they come back looking as if nothing has changed. I'm still glowing red when I get into the office, I can't usually put a cardigan on because I'm too warm for cardigan and coat (yes, even in this weather), and don't get me started on my hair. How these women do it I have no idea - is there a class I can go to?


So back to the First Gym of Christmas. This is a very odd body conditioning class. The instructor is absolutely lovely and introduced herself by name at the beginning and definitely didn't remember my name, but she's lovely. She's a tad scary looking - a bit like an anorexic, smiley Mystic Meg, but I can let that slide. The class is bizarre though. She uses these CDs she gets once a month which I think are called Megafix Workout Workout CDs... but I could be wrong. They take you through sets of exercises, repeat them and give you some rest time. It's one of those classes thats tough enough to make you feel like you've worked hard, but not hard enough to make you feel like you're dying for the rest of the day.

My main issue is that I have no idea what the exercises are called. Some are okay "Sprint in place" and "Side lunges" are ok... But what the hell are "Burpies" and "Side crabs"? Among other things I mishear so badly that she could be telling me to anally probe the person in front for all I know.

I can't help but thing this method of work out is a bit of a cheat, however knowing there's only going to be a set number of workout sets, and knowing you get a 25 second break every 3.5 minutes is the sort of hope that we pre-work gym troopers must cling on to.



Wednesday, 12 December 2012

The Eight Commandments of the Gym Commute

Balancing my work life/gym life has been a bit of a struggle over the last few weeks, but with the festive season upon us, and the ever replenishing fishbowl of chocolates on the reception desk at work, I should probably get back into the habit of it.

One remarkable thing I have noticed about my new life, is the striking similarity between the behaviour of the general public in the gym... and on the commute to London.


1. Thou shalt never be next to others. Unless you thou hast no choice.

On public transport, you must pick the empty seats first. But only the ones in pairs, threes, fours or sixes. You must be alone. No matter how much you yearn for companionship when you're tired and achey, you must be alone.

In the gym, you NEVER run, press, cycle, sit, stretch or pump on a machine next to another human being when there are other machines much further away available.

In both situations, you are desperate to read someone's paper over their shoulder, or see how high their tension is on their bike or how far they've run in the same time as you. But you can't. If you don't know them you must abide by the toilet stall rule - Alternate until you have no choice.


2. Thou shalt never discuss thine common purpose.

This one particularly bugs me. I see hundreds of people every morning on my way to work. I see many people each time I go to the gym at varying times of day. It bugs me that I don't know where they came from or where they're going. Whether they're in a good mood or what their goals are.

What is even worse is that you all have one gigantic thing in common. You are ON A TRAIN. You are IN A GYM. But you can't discuss it. It's as though it's some sort of huge, dark taboo.Sometimes our train comes to a halt. I sit there silently on the C2C Twitter feed, and by this point even the driver doesn't know what's going on, but I am happily up to date. Or if I received a last minute email detailing a class cancellation that no one else has seen, I feel I can't share that information. It is just for me. Alone.


3. When the silence is broken, thou shalt struggle to function socially.

When the barrier of silence is broken. Usually when the gym instructor has worked you really hard, or the water fountain is broken. Or a train is cancelled so it's packed and someone wants you to "move down the train", conversation just fails to flow.

I never have nothing to say, or struggle to come up with a conversation topic. But when confronting a strange at the gym or on the train, I say things that wouldn't even be in the first draft of a thought process, and probably make me sound like I have never spoken to a human being before. Things like "Why is she making us do this?" - "Some people are so moody" - and "Sorry I didn't mean to fondle you" are things that don't generally need to be said, let alone to complete strangers who don't speak.

4. Thou shalt always feel like you're doing it wrong.

Whether it's because you don't use the overhead luggage compartments or bring a towel with you, there is always someone that seems to have the system cracked that little bit better than you. These are the people who don't get sweat in their eyes and don't elbow people in the face when trying to re-robe at their destination. They don't stand up too early, nor do they pick weights that are too heavy for them.

Luckily there's always a busty lady with no sports bra, or a shopping with six bags balanced on their lap to make you feel superior.

5. Thou shalt always be the most important person in the room.

Whether you were there first or not was irrelevant. That is your seat, your ticket barrier, your weights machine or your favourite position in the fitness studio. You are definitely entitled to be annoyed at the woman who has placed herself in front of the ITV4 film on the TV, leaving you stuck in front of Sky Sports. And you can definitely tut at the person who accidentally mis-swipes their Oyster card in front of you. Don't they know who you are? Who cares if you're the one going the wrong way down the stairs? Who cares if that person is also spending over £40 a month to be there? You are there and you wanted to do it.

6. Thou shalt be passive aggressive.

That's right, you subtly move to the left so you can regain your studio territory. You cough loudly until they stop in the middle of their set. You accidentally elbow the person who is practically standing on your foot or not moving down the carriage. Never tell them what's wrong. Don't smile or ask them to move slightly, or when they'll be finished. Use body language that is obviously to yourself and no one else, and be annoyed when your subtly does not yield results.

7. Thou shalt judge those who do not know how to comport themselves.

Much like the lady who will consistently work up a dripping sweat before going to a class that uses shared equipment, there was also a man on my train who not only weirdly snuggled under a strangers armpit, but moved backwards to let someone through, whilst leaving his arm on the pole so the person had to limbo underneath their arm. People do odd things on a daily basis, but in the gym and during the commute, when everyone is silent and you have little to do but observe to distract yourself, so here their behaviour sticks out more. And my judgement of those people also increases. It's irrelevant if I look like panting sweaty mess who elbows people because she didn't stand up before putting her coat on, what other people do is always that little bit more questionable...

8. Thou shalt not accept change.

Do not delay my train. Do not change the times of my favourite gym classes. End of.

Sunday, 21 October 2012

Scottish people are mean

Since beginning work I haven't managed to time it well enough to get to many classes, but I'm slowly losing my enthusiasm and my attention span is lacking, so this weekend I thought I'd try some more classes. Saturday brought Body Conditioning again, but this time with Lee Burnett.

I was a little anxious, considering the other class I had taken led by a man had been more like a PE lesson and nothing like the session advertised. In fact I had actually avoided the 10am Saturday sesh just for this reason, I suspected I wouldn't enjoy the class as much as when it is run by a female (particularly a sparky blonde.). But on this day I decided to put my prejudice aside, and try out the class.

You can only imagine my surprise when it turned out that Lee Burnett is a woman. Whatsmore, she then opened her mouth... and she was... Scottish... 

But as I said, prejudices aside.

So we began the class. It was definitely one of the better classes, it was repetitive but not to the boring lengths that made it boring. However it was painful. Very painful. And there is something both compelling and soothing about a Scottish accent. One minute she was nice as pie, the next minute I felt like I was in the military. At one point, during a lunge she moved my back leg further back from my (like I wasn't vulnerable enough) and soothingly said "That's better isn't it?" I felt I had to agree but I think in Scotland "better" means "worse".

She kept telling everyone how small and weedy our tricep muscles were. I would have been offended, but it's undeniable. She made us press up, plank, and everything else also involved being on our arms, to the point I welcome the 50 stomach crunches (that was more like 70 because she "lost count").

I hobbled away, shaking, weak, and the only thought I could muster: Scottish people are mean.


Sunday, 7 October 2012

Losing your V cycle Plates


Please play this video while you read for um-beyonce.

You sit there, nervous and inexperienced, wondering what the next hour will bring. Then he comes in, the lights go off and you hold your breath until it begins. A haze of sweat and music and pain, each position brings relief for a few seconds until it just hurts again. You focus on a spot on a wall, fighting the cramp in your foot and just pray it'll be over soon. Later, you stand in the shower, aching, bruised, feeling like you'll never walk again, battling in your mind with conflicting feelings of regret and satisfaction.

They say its like riding a bike. It isn't.


I think the only way I managed to get through the 45 minute "V Cycle" class was by making comparisons to the classic concepts of virginity loss. The only part I lied about was when I said "he", the instructor was actually female but I changed it for effect #artisticlicense #itsmyblogandicandowhatiwant

This class is hard. Not only that but it wasn't really what I expected. I was quite happy cycling in rhythm with everything, then I realised some people just show off and cycle like mentalists with no regard to the beat of the music. The fact the room is dark apart from green lazers is also very off putting. I came to the gym, not a party. In fact when I walked in the room, before the lights were completely out, it felt like when you're the first ones in a club, the talking is louder than the music and everyone is standing in small groups with the odd super drunk person already dancing (or super fit person already cycling in this case). 

There is also a lot of room for cheating, you're supposed to "touch up" and "touch down" the tension of the bike... "TOUCH UP A FULL 360 DEGREES"... *Jeffery subtly notches it up about 4*... boom... EASY. In fairness, it became apparent after the first two minutes I had no chance of keeping up with everyone else. She also kept shouting things that sounded like techniques for pedalling but I'm not sure there is more than one way to pedal a bike.

The best part of the session was the final song, literally nothing made me happier than the sudden appearance of a remix of this wonderful Indie power ballad by The Calling, which rounded off my Virginity/V Cycle metaphor perfectly. However my sex mataphor was slightly tainted by the fact she shouted things like "ATTACK"... "UP FOR 8" and constantly told you how long was left. That would be somewhat of a mood killer. 

They say its like riding a bike. But the only thing that is like riding a bike, is riding a bike.

Overall, this class gives too much opportunity to slack which isn't good. I did sweat a lot, but I didn't particularly enjoy it and I don't think a class that only works one part of my body is particularly helpful. I also am pissed that no one can keep rhythm - you'll never make it in show business.

6/10.