I've always thought that exercise is a bit over-rated, and
that it does you more harm than good. Every time I go for workouts, I think
it's one of those dirty secrets that only a select group of powerful people
somewhere know, like those people who apparently know that Jesus is coming back
(a week from Tuesday, apparently), or that group that ordered the Kennedy
assassination. I think there's a group like that for exercise as well, made up
of people like Arnold Schwarznegger and co, who meet once a week to laugh at
people like me who go on three kilometer jogs and still have the highs size of South America. They get together to
eat pizza and the souls of small children, and they laugh at me, because deep
down, they know exercise is bad for you.
Being a fitness freak and lack of entertainment in gooty
made me to enroll in the gym of local officers club which I ve zeroed after a
long tiresome search, before the daily dose of protein shakes and oat meals , it
is the same everyday, stretch like Jane Fonda on the perverted bars, run like
Forrest Gump on thread mill with other
folks around you smelling like mountain goats. The gym here also boasts
itself for having a sauna which is not a easy thing either, but it taught me
empathy. Now I feel like what a potato feels inside a microwave oven, or how a
shirt will feel inside a washing machine
.
The companions I got in this gym range from good to ugly,
starting with the smelly goats herding toward the weights and make painful
faces and equally painful sounds as though they were being sodomized. Hell, if
it is so painful to lift that thing in the first place, why lift it at all.
And there is this woman who look like a “Helga” who comes to
gym everyday with her dog. I call her “Helga”, because, that’s the name that
crosses my mind when I think of an obnoxious, arrogant middle-aged woman. I think
she considers herself good looking, well at least somebody did. The more I looked
at Helga, the more I liked her dog.
Then there was this middle aged man whom I refer here as “Dick”.
A formless being, his sole purpose in life was to come in and ogle at all the
pretty woman at peak-time,all he do is to chat up all the women in the gym. For
some strange reason, he used to work out in what one can call a “ monkey-cap”. It
was like a condom pulled right over his head and he is a dick of highest order.
You know those typical ones with the garrulous laughter and fake lecherous
smile who laugh at all the wrong parts of the joke? That kind. May be he comes
in just to see if all the machines are being worked optimally.
Then there is this “The Thing”. All bulged up, so stiff that
he could have given a telephone pole real stiff competition. Sixty percent of
his time was spent on looking at himself in the mirror and striking strange
poses, twenty percent would be spent on grunting with weights, eighteen percent
spent walking around and showing off his muscles and the balance two percent on
going back to where he started. I wonder ,may be he eat rocks as food, as they
also seem to have found their way into his head. His face is like a thoroughly
beaten up jerry can and we could have used those arms as jacks for replacing a
flat-Tyre. If we chopped off his legs, they could have been used as beams to
hold up two municipality buildings of gooty, built by cheap contractors, to prevent
the roof from caving in. He can be practically categorized as a “construction
equipment” and so he is “The Thing”
I have changed my
dietary pattern also . oats are in. I am
having so much of oats that I have no choice
but to stand and sleep at nights like a horse. Oats do that to you; that’s
why horses sleep while standing. The nuts and crackers made me think like a
bird. The meals had to be high-fiber and if I couldn't get a high fibre meal, I
should chew bed-covers and linen. Chicken and mutton are a strict no-no and I am
living life at a discount.
With all these efforts, hopefully, I could turn into my new shape
like that dude from “Avatar” before I move out of this place
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