I love sports. But hate exercise. In that I like doing things that involve others in a sporting situation but doing it on my own is like some form of mastubatory unfulfilment. I think its the trash talk I miss. I find it most unrewarding to sit in front of the mirrors at the gym insulting myself. And ‘exercise’ is just another way of saying ‘repetitive boredom’. All about discipline. And who needs that?
So I don’t go.
Normally.
But these aren’t normal times.
I’m on holiday. Until monday at least. So there’s no tennis. I did swim in the mornings then acquired a dastardly Mexican ear infection, so other than walking along the beach daily there was very little to counter the vastly increased food and drink intake.
So we went to the gym. Which is very much like an English gym except the instructions are in Spanish. And there’s tortillas in little dishes around the place. If only.
I went on the cycle machine; that was fine, if really, mind-numbingly, shout-out-loud fucking boring.
I went on the cross trainer. And it made me cross. So that must be working then.
And I went on the worst of all, the devil’s own workout tool; the running machine.
I set it on 7 miles an hour, or kilometres per taco, or nuclear decompositions per Iranian Presidency, and jogged at a nice leisurely pace. And jogged, and jogged. For 6 hours solid. Though my watch told me it had actually been 3.2 minutes. I watched the tv screen. Football. Zenit St Petersburg vs Vienna. Great. My favourite teams. But ‘any port in a storm’ and it was a welcome distraction. Zenit scored. Great goal. Wow, fab.
And I’m laid out on the floor on my nose behind the running machine.
No-one told me that even when a goal is scored, its probably best not to slow down or stop running.
And have you noticed how many really overweight people there are in gyms? Loads of them. Therefore gyms actually make you fat. So I’m not going any more. Its detrimental to my fitness. I’ll just end up a great fat bastard with a broken nose.
Last day of holiday,
the sun is calling
Happy monday
A xxxx
how dare you call my wife a stuffed donkey???
xxxx
Safe journey home fat and bord man with a big Mexican hat and stuffed donkey