30 March 2012


So, I had my second Gym sesh the other day.

Not before experiencing what Marios called the next few days...

After feeling awful (at the Gym), then feeling amazing (an hour after the Gym), the next day dawned and it dawned upon me my world was going to come to a grinding halt.

I have never felt more stiffness...well I probably have...like that back room in Sitges.

But what I am trying to say is I have never felt more stiffness in my body...well...probably at that back room in Sitges.

Anyways, a group of us went away to a friends place in the country for the weekend. Just as a sidebar, having come from country Australia, I assumed there wasn't a place for gays in the country. Well it turns out there is! It's in the English countryside! It was all Hunter wellies and Range Rovers, flat caps and pheasants, Cuban cigars and helicopters, wine cellars and conservatories - it was so cunty and entitled, I felt right at home. Rah!

So, I awoke on Saturday morning feeling like I had done Cirque de Soleil the day before and at some point during the night had given it another go.

It wasn't my arms or my legs or my back in particular that hurt - it was my everything.

I had to free fall to sit on the toilet. And then roll off onto the floor and use the bidet to stand up. I'd still be rolling around on the floor if it wasn't for rich people and their overindulgent bathrooms.

Why would anyone voluntarily exercise on a regular basis? Oh that's right, fitness and well being *rolls eyes*

So, I went back for my second sesh with Marios. I didn't do any sessions during the week, mainly because I was in the recovery position most days.

He went much easier on me and I really think he listened to me between my panting and wanting to just "lay on the floor" from the week before. Although he did get me to lunge with that fucking medicine ball again, but instead of lunging across the room, I had to hold and turn to the right or left depending which leg I was using.

We can give those a rest for next time, thank you.

There was a relatively unfit guy adjacent to me getting the workout equivalent of a fisting from this hard looking Eastern European personal trainer. We eyeballed each other during his minute rest from this weight machine that made you lift an exceedingly large amount of weights whilst doing a punching action. The Eastern European personal trainer yelled at him, "Begin!" and he jumped back into position and started again. He glanced back at me and my relatively easy medicine ball exercise and I felt so guilty, but grateful to have Marios.

I looked back at the unfit man for a sign, a code, a nod, anything indicating a call should be placed with Amnesty International citing human rights abuses towards fat people, but they were smiling and laughing with each other - clearly Stockholm Syndrome.

I looked at Marios for the same encouragement.

"Good form", he said.


Oh gawd, clearly Stockholm Syndrome.

1 comment:

Gay Blog Award