I have been blessed with a metabolism that can dissolve and dispense with all but the most defiant of fat laden Cheeseburgers and the best the Colonel and his secret recipe can throw at me. I have spent my life carefree in the knowledge that my arteries may well be clogged up with copious amounts of sludge and bad cholesterol but from the outside, I almost look like I jog every other morning. Almost!
This was until recently. My body has starting to reject me. I have been in denial for a year or two but now I have to consider defeat. So I am going to have to do something soon about my steady expansion or turn into a pot-bellied middle-aged member of the British obese society that I see each time I visit my local Town Centre.
For now.......I’m holding out. If I stand shoulders back and breath in deeply, I can just about pull it off. I have tried this several times and the rewards of looking briefly toned only marginally outweigh the hours of pain and debilitating stomach muscle aching I suffer later.
So, the Gym it is. I ordered a pair of tight-fitting vinyl white shorts, a shuttlecock for genital enhancement, a sleeveless slightly off-white vest and a thick black moustache. I could'nt wait.
Upon arriving to sign up to physical greatness I was invited by a male assistant to view the body sculpturing paraphernalia. I was quite sure it worked fine but he insisted on showing me exactly how to use everything.
As I entered the Gym and looked at all the NASA inspired equipment I suddenly noticed I was being eye-balled by a weary looking assortment of Gym enthusiasts already hard into their sweaty, panting -and for some- fruitless work-out routines.
I wondered if I would be accepted into the World of the over-eaters.
I passed the weightlifting area which was strangely cordoned off from the rest of the Gym and watched curiously as troubled looking men who no-doubt had posters of the Governor of Californian on their bedroom wall, chewed on whole pieces of steroid and pumped iron. I admired the vanity in action. These guys had veins on their biceps the size of my arms. Nice!
I decided I was more interested in cardiovascular fitness and was immediately drawn to pretty young female strapped to a strange leg-spreading contraption.
She was resting slightly backwards while she pushed the extremely lucky foam covered metal bars open with her legs, while at the same time exerting deep sensual and pleasurable breathe- in my opinion. This was indeed an excellent visual experience. This was my kind of Gym. I became transfixed but was hastily dragged off by my concerned assistant.
He led me to the changing rooms and showers and said, ‘Off you go’. I enquired, ‘Now?’ He looked surprised. I had suddenly became a little bashful.
How was I to know if I could actually use half of this gear? I was terrified I would sit down on the leg extracting pleasure machine and not be able to open my legs without causing myself a hernia. What if I couldn’t lift those weights and the whole Gym fell about laughing? I was suddenly having second thoughts and visions of humiliation flashed before my eyes.
I changed into my 118118 uniform, attached my moustache and briskly walked into the Gym again. I eyed up the equipment holding on to some in a masculine fashion and looked inquisitively, like I was inspecting it’s suitability for my particular work-out regime.
Then I moved on to the next one and then the next. Having now visited most pieces of gym equipment and inspected its appropriateness and ruggedness, I proceeded back to the changing rooms showered and headed home.
You know........... maybe I have a few more years left yet!