The Gym

I joined a gym today. It's part of the new 'keep fit' me. I had to fill in a million forms and have every part of my body measured and recorded. I'm not going to share that information with you. It's just too shameful. After the detailed cataloguing of both me and my bank account details, I got to try out the equipment.

The nice instructor, Paul, showed me how each toy worked and then set me a target. I've used gym equipment before, but usually only for the odd week here and there. Each time the gym has a 'free' trial session or a freebie week to bring in the punters, then I'm there, trying it all out, but never actually committing to having my bank account slimmed down.




For a while, back in the 1990s, there was a fascinating incentive that GPs would 'prescribe' gym membership. For all I know, they do it still. The idea was a good one. Get the wobbly patients to get out there and do something instead of sitting around eating and watching TV. It sounds brilliant. I'd like a prescription for three sessions a week and a massage, please.

I wonder how successful it was? I'm guessing it was either too expensive for the NHS or the take up rate of the prescriptions was not high enough, because I haven't heard of anyone getting free gym membership lately. There's also the ongoing controversy about whether free stuff should be given to those that don't provide for themselves.

There was a debate on the radio a couple of weeks ago about the killer of that poor 11 year old. The schoolboy was caught in crossfire between rival gangs. The debate was about how to stop this sort of thing from happening again. On one side there was the local preacher, who suggested that youth facilities needed to be improved. Then there was a woman talking about giving the disaffected youth more opportunities, like recording their own album. Finally there was a completely incensed man raving about how his piano playing daughter would also like a recording contract, and she hadn't been thrown out of the local youth club for assault like the kid that pulled the trigger had been. Why should we reward them? he screamed. Bring back National Service! (I'd argue that we don't actually want to train them to use guns, so maybe National Service is not such a great idea.) But the point stands. Why should we give them things that better adjusted people have to pay for?

I digress. Where was I? Oh yes, the gym. So, I'm providing for my own well-being by taking up regular exercise. I'm going to be the fittest, leanest, most sexy woman on the planet. I am going to lose the extra three stone I'm lugging around with me. I am shedding the pounds as I speak.

I spent 25 minutes jogging (OK, a fast walk) up a simulated hill, going more purple by the stride. Then I squeezed poundage between my thighs, and lifted a few weights. Finally, once I had regained my breath, I was asked to do some sit-ups and back lifts.

So I lay on the mat, looking like the proverbial beached whale, with this odd device to hold on to. It rocks as you attempt to sit up. I managed a few pathetic curls, with my bulging stomach preventing me from bending any further. Talk about humiliation. The back lifts were worse. I never lie on my stomach. It's like lying on a cushion. I am balanced on three points - two boobs and the acreage of fat covering my belly.

"Hands by your head and lift!" says Paul cheerfully.
I wobble slightly.
"Well done!" he says encouragingly. "Just 15 more!"

I promise I will go again, once I've recovered. The whole session lasted about an hour and I managed to burn off the grand total of 300 calories. I'm fairly sure I can scoff 300 calories during an advert break on TV. I reckon my abdomen is carrying an excess of about 3,000, 000 calories, so it will only take me 10,000 trips to the gym to burn it all off.

No problem. I'll go again tomorrow.

Jem xx