Go straight to hell, do not pass 'Go' ...do not lose 200 lbs

January, oh feckin January, a month of good intentions, false hopes and faint optimism! Most of which are in reality just bollox and only verbalised by us because we feel that we should try to say that we're going to do something different or better in our lives that year.

So should I pack in booze? Err no (how else would I remain sane?) should I eat better, well I can try but the reality is that the crisps and pork scratching’s that accompany the booze will put paid to that idea. I mean, so what if it was Christmas and then the New Year, so what if you’ve put on a few pounds of cake and turkey or just aren't as fit as you were before the festive period? Why does January have to lay the guilt on so heavy? Pressure mounting, I finally succumb; you know maybe, just maybe, I could go for something straight forward?? I know I'll go back to the Gym; after all I may as well actually use that membership card that now lies dog-eared on the floor, its sole purpose to stop the table from rocking.

So with this moment of madness in mind, I got to thinking about the ‘gym’, the ‘studio’, the ‘workout zone’! So come on, who ever thought these were a good idea? What possesses people to spend good time and money at these pain delivery centres? Now me, I say I go for medical reasons, because I have a bad knee, well in fact two bad knees, oh and maybe a pound or two extra... and ok... some may even say that I have a fat head? but in all honesty, why do we really bother, for what purpose, it’s certainly not for fun?

Now gyms, they are funny places when you think about it, there can be no argument with that, they come in all shapes and sizes, all with their own personalities, some big and brash, some small and select, some with a reputation for being hard and some that would plain scare the shit out of you! Funny really, it’s a bit like their clients; they too come in all sizes and all types, all trying to find their niche, all trying to look special!! They all have one common goal though, to entice you with images of the body beautiful, the special deal and a shot at releasing your inner Adonis!!

So there you are, you’ve bitten the bullet, signed your DD, now it’s time to take the first steps on the path to the body beautiful. You enter the ‘house of pain’ and suddenly you realise that the reality is far removed from pictures on the adverts. The glamour that once enticed you, the one where a nubile young lady exercises with a grin that would light up the room! Or a perfectly muscled man lifts weights without effort or even breaking a sweat. No, all of this has gone now and been replaced with a stark reality. The reality that bites now, is a room of extremes, of cliques, of stereotypes, of lycra clad people and banging music, a room from Hades, a room that strikes fear into your already strained and pumping heart.


At first glance, the room is split three ways, the cardio equipment, the weights machines and the ‘free weights’. Now your induction may have taught you how to use them and provided you a programme, but it won’t have primed you for your first experience of 'real' Gym life! So armed with your water bottle, head phones and newly purchased gear, you turn up like a virgin at a sacrifice. Full of hope and expectation but soon to be vanquished and left bloodied, battered and ruined. You vow to carry on and as you begin your warm up, you look around to familiarise yourself with your environment and fellow gym goers and suddenly realise how far you are from the sporting idyll of what had been promised.

The cardio crew are cracking on, middle aged women who’ve been shoehorned into a size 12 lycra suit clearly with the use of goose fat and vasoline, funny lumps and bumps bouncing gently as they enter their forced march, speed walking cycle. The amateur pro’s in running shirts and shorts, these fanatics who, stick thin, gaunt and muscled, pound the treadmill with monotonous ease, barely breaking a sweat while occupying that precious piece of equipment that you’ll need next, and so they will continue, for hour after tedious hour!! Then there are the young ladies, the gym bunnies, all style and smart gear, happy to spend their time gently easing through a cross trainer session whilst looking casually over at the mirror or typing endlessly into their Iphone... you can almost hear them, how do I look, who’s watching.....does my bum look big in this? You see them day after day, no sweat, no pain and no fat! ... just how can that be?

But the gym also hides a secret, over in a distant corner, there’s the dark side, a place, a home for the free weights. Now this is not a place for the faint hearted and certainly not a place for the uninvited. This is a place where the alpha male finds his home, the testosterone filled, supplement soaked, steroid riddled pack make their mark. Their uniform is simple, vest tops, ‘Everlast’ trackies and boxer boots signify that you belong, the sound of chaffing thighs and unnatural grunting is the norm here...There’s no place here for the weak, the smart or the old, this is the powerhouse of the gym. A place filled with meat heads, operating in groups, hunting in packs, biceps bulging and eyes on stalks they crash out set upon set of ridiculous weights, their only goal to be, a bloated, big necked gorilla.

And then there’s me and the middle aged massive, old tee shirts and footy shorts, manky trainers and a sweaty brow, pounding the machine like elephant’s in a grape farm. Close to breaking we push on through the pain barrier, hope dissipating as we carry on, trying to distract ourselves from the pain by watching the TV.. can’t focus.. the pain is too much! So we begin the countdown ...just two minutes left... pound, pound, pound... ninety seconds... pound, pound, pound... thirty seconds pound, pound, pound... that’s it.. thank feck.!!... And relax..tortured and tired and moments away from the next 5 minutes on the rower.

So you’ve finally made it, session done, a wave of euphoria passes over you. But just when you think you’re safe and it’s time to head off home, well that’s where the real trauma starts!! Now if you’re like me, you take the chance to have a shower while there!! Well why wouldn’t you?? After all, it’s the only time these days that you can have one without being forced to wipe it down after use. So come on, pray tell when did all this start, what is it with showers these days?? back in the day you could lather up, shower down and rinse and get out, now you enter like a naked window cleaner, squeegee in hand and shower clean on standby !!

So with a deep breath and a sense of nervousness I enter the changing rooms. Now this is a really surreal place, these places have many quirks and almost as many strange customs. This is the place where some men are most at home; here they are at their posing, self obsessed best! Prancing around literally like a ‘cock’ hen, happy to stand proud and to chat to all and sundry in their newborn glory, their toned bodies kissed by the orange glow of a stand up tan and the dull odour of Lynx Africa. These are the people that even when the place is empty, choose to change right next to you, almost in a subliminal attempt to put you in your place. They pose and chat and get too close, seemingly happy to bend and stretch as they talk about bench pressing and squats while picking the fluff from every orifice!

...but then, over in the far corner, the slightly pale tubby men try to blend into the background, sweaty and red from an almost cardiac inducing session, for them there is no chatter, no they sit panting and waiting for an opportune moment to shuffle uncomfortably to the shower. For them there’s no prancing about, no public displays, but instead the largest towel they can find to hide the love handles, beer belly and sweat covered hairy body. For them the trauma is almost complete, their escape almost accomplished, clear in the understanding that their sweating will remain for many hours yet! and so they leave red and ruddied like a Ribena advert, to return to normal lives and maybe a pork pie for lunch...oh and a beer or two for tea!!

So fun it is not, but continue I may, this could just be through sheer stupidity, maybe it’s vanity and maybe I still think that maybe, just one day, I can uncover my inner six pack!!!