Saturday, December 15, 2012

Gym cuniculi

Yes, that's what the Romans called that vile species we know today as 'gym bunnies'. We popped round to our local sports centre this morning where I signed up to the induction course for Tuesday morning: you know, learning to use the walkers, rowers, static bikes, power-presses ...

I did not make a good impression there: I'm in recovery from the ghastly norovirus - my voice is squeaky, my hue wan. I fear the fit young lady at the service desk anticipated a combination of failure and/or death-in-action for Tuesday.

For a long time I used to run 3 miles or so three times a week. Eventually I could sustain an average 7-8 mph. And eventually I got knee and hip joint pains which never properly recovered so I had to stop, degrading into my current state of unfitness. With a two stone loss of weight I'm now in urgent need of muscle-toning - time to devolve fat, not muscle! Hence my entry into the Schwarzeneggerish world of the gym.

OK, I ask myself, I get all this body maintenance stuff  ... but run it past me again: what, exactly, in the end, is it all for?