Lets Get Physical

"Let's get Physical, Physical" Contralto'd the contorted  and contoured Olivia Netwon John as she gyrated her way into the world of adult disco pop, having strayed dangerously close to John Travolta and experimented with E.L.O on her way to icon status. The video portrayed a nubile leotard attired ONJ as a coach for a team of rather unfit portly gentlemen, who miraculous sweated themselves into male gymbuffs with orange skin and 80's skimpy swimwear, not unlike aquatically inspired oompa loompas practising for a weight lifting pageant.

All this talk of exertion makes me weak at the mere thought of it.....

Which is why my doctors suggested just a tad more exercise would not go amiss. I waited for the punchline, but none was forthcoming and with a mild shock realised his intent was indeed of a non humourous nature.

My previously petite frame has become somewhat inflated, due in some part to the steroids, but also due to the plethora of previously forbidden foods. I have re-introduced sugar into the tea making ceremony, chanced upon the delights of chocolate, Pineapple Lumps, desserts laced with caramels, cream and confectionary.

It was time to fight back against the bulge! Dread filled my very core.

Like a herald from above, whose timing appeared celestially managed, I got a call from a charming lady inviting me to try a 10 day pass at our newly opened fitness and swimming facility, the new Silverdale Northern Arena.

No obligation to join, but an opportunity to try the pool and check out some of the health fitness.
Well what on earth could go wrong, I mused, it was only 10 days!

We arranged therefore to meet a fitness instructor named Jerry and collect out free passes and avail ourselves of the free guiden tour of the establishment.

The day arrived with a sense of excitement, trepidation, and a soupçon of doubt, unsure of what I mentally committing to.....

I needn't have worried.

Greeted by the diminutive muscled pumped Scottish Jerry, a walking advertisement for the powers of Irn-Bru, we were asked to complete application forms and a health questionnaire.

Like obliging lemmings we duly completed the forms and handed them back. Not before I read through every single clause in the three page long terms and conditions, much to Jerry's obvious chagrin.

Aye, you dunna need to read that, its just standard Tand C's, he attempted to convince me.

Never having joined a gym before I was unaware of any Terms and Conditions, standard or otherwise.
I didn't want to be surprised in three months time finding that I had subscribed to a lifetime membership costing thousands of dollars, because I didn't tick the box on the form located in the basement of their Head Office in Wellington, open between 3 and 4 am Sundays only, within 36 hours of signing the agreement. As for the health questionnaire, suffice it to say mine was quite convoluted.

Form duly completed and handed back, wee athletic Jerry proceeded to show us through the complex.

We started the magical tour in the Pool area. Two vast reservoirs shimmered before us, the pungent waft of chlorine drifting skywards, enveloped me. I was instantly transported back the childhood, Saturday morning swim lessons at Staines Municipal Baths, with Dad, Sibling Neil and pungent horrors and stinging eyes. Thanks 1976.

Jerry explained that this pool belonged to a local Swimming Club for their training sessions, whilst in the next pool three lanes were reserved for Swim Aerobics (some ghastly invention involving bending and water)
This left just 2 lanes for freestyle swimming. What no dive-bombing, splashing or doggie paddles? There would be a lot of disappointed Staines folk if they were come here.


We gravitated to the changing and shower area. As I peered nervously at the cubicles and racks more memories of 70's childhood stared rudely back. Resisting the urge to run, I politely feigned interest and smiled at what seemed appropriate points. The heat was quite stifling, due to the steroids, steam, or from a growing sense of what is commonly referred to as  "not being in one's comfort zone"
The only zone I wanted was a calzone, stuffed with ham and mozzarella.

Jerry continued apace leading us to rooms filled with cycles, gymnastic balls, boxing gear, and the piece de resistance what appeared to be a Robocop convention with strange dark machines looming menacingly.

This he explained was the blah blah, blah, where you could sign up for some blah blah.

At this point I must confess that I couldn't really decipher his speech, both through his Highland lilt and the subject matter.

I intermittently smiled and nodded, keeping up the appearance of earnest agreement, as I strained to comprehend the paisley scented gibberish.  Remembering Harry Enfield's Aliens transported to late 80's Britain, I contemplated the "Really? How interesting..." response:

but as that might encourage him, I decided to endure and at practice my running at the first opportunity.

Blah, blah, lessons, blah di blah, blah, trainer,  blah blah blah, optimum level of fitness.

We shuffled on edging ever closer to the entrance, where the cafe was situated. Disappointment reigned supreme as the menu enthusiastically and virtuously shouted HEALTH and GOODNESS.

Averting my eyes to the horror that was Tofu and Mung bean lasagne, and repelled by carrot and grass juice, we sensed the proximity of the door. Tantalizingly  near, and yet Hamish McHealthy stood blocking our way by the exit turnstiles.

Blah blah blah di blah membership, blah trial 10 days blah See ya.

And that was it, finally like a broken record he had come to the end of his spiel. I cordially said thank you and exerted some energy as I scampered for the car.

On the way home not a word about the experience passed our lips, mainly due to my being out of breath from the scampering.

And so I sit here now, nibbling on a rice cracker and contemplating having a bike ride instead followed  with a pleasant walk on the beach.

I agree that I need to make some changes, but not in such a structured, organized and well intentioned "you will have fun!" method. After all I am the master of fun, and have been the apprentice of joviality since a very early age, indeed since I was a wee bairn.

I was jolly and chubby then and no one seemed to mind? Why I believe I invented Zumba and Dancercise.............

So the rush to become corporately physical, led by legions of professional fun sportsters will just have to pass me by. I shall just have to tweak my lifestyle a tad, and remain hopelessly devoted to food, just not with all that Grease.