My temple of choice was Pure gym, which the-hippest-coolest-innest-gym in town. I walk into the crowded entrance. Big bowl of green apples-that-are-not-meant-for-eating-as-why-would-you-need-more-calories-to-work-off? Techno thumping and lots of white people looking flushed-yet-composed. I sign up for a free trial (no way am I paying for this without seeing if my will power can stand it) with the guy in the undersized red t-shirt behind the counter, who I could have sworn is wearing eye make-up. And there I am, ready for action. That was easy.
I traipse upstairs and find myself in what seems to be a night out with machines. The music is LOUD. And the place is PACKED. Men with huge biceps compete for space in front of the mirrors as they swing their dumbells. Girls with tiny bums hang off of bars, while others check that their cleavages are low enough in the mirror. I feel like a deer in the headlights. I wish the lights were lower. I work my way apologetically from machine to machine and end up on the mats doing some puny push ups.
Despite all odds, I managed an hour (no I wasn't counting). And left feeling rather pleased with myself. I lifted my chin up in distain as I walked past the happy-smoking-drinking-people in the bar downstairs. I had that holier-than-thou feeling and could feel my aura glowing. Went home, had a saintly salad for dinner and am going back today. Ahh those good intentions.
Maybe I can get a new gym outfit. Something to make Stella proud.
By the way, I read an article yesterday that said maybe people would go to the gym more if they had to pay each time they didn't go rather than vice versa.
Take a look if you've run out of anything interesting to read and are starting to think the job ads in the Economist are an acceptable source of entertainment: http://adage.com/cmostrategy/