Diary of an Office Drone - the gym
- By Killer Katerina
- Published 06/6/2008
Killer Katerina
I am a freelance writer dreaming of giving up the day job. In the meantime, I'll write about it. I hope it will make other downtrodden nine-to-fivers feel a connection, and maybe raise a smile.
The gym seems to be an obligatory part of life, along with eating 5 a day (who actually does?) and conspicuosly rejecting carrier bags. My gym is snazzy enough on the inside but is in a bit of a dodgy area, which reduces its value as an elevator of social status. ('Went to the gym last night.' 'Oh yes? Greens, LA Fitness?' 'Um, well, the Gorbals council-owned leisure centre, actually.' Nul points.)
Still, it gets its fair share of serious people slogging away on the treadmills. You know the serious ones because they've bought special high-tech clothes for it, as if it makes any difference what your wind resistance is on a treadmill. I avoid the proper gym part of the gym and go to the fitness classes where there's someone shouting at me to keep going, rather than calling it a day after the initial stretches.
Today it was Body Jam, which is basically dancing for exercise. Cleverly, they make the dance moves easy enough that you can attempt them but complicated enough that you have to concentrate really hard, so no-one is looking at anyone else's dan
cing. Otherwise it would be excruciatingly embarrassing. As it is, it's just excruciating.
After the class you get a chance to look at the others. Most peope had turned beetroot, except the teacher who was getting ready to do another class straight afterwards. Looking in the mirror in the changing rooms I found that my cheeks had turned a pleasant shade of raspberry. Well, it would have been pleasant on a raspberry. Anyway, it was better than beetroot.
You get some strange looks going home afterwards, with your cheeks still glowing. Men seem to find it very attractive, even though the make-up is all sweated off. Maybe they think it makes you look young and vigorous, although it's actually caused by not being young or vigorous enough to jump around for an hour without turning into a soft fruit.
The good thing about going to the gym, of course, is that it gives you license to eat a really unhealthy lunch afterwards - otherwise what would be the point? And as long as I don't mention which gym when I slip it into conversation in the lift, it might gain me some office-cred, too. Oh yes, promotion beckons.
Still, it gets its fair share of serious people slogging away on the treadmills. You know the serious ones because they've bought special high-tech clothes for it, as if it makes any difference what your wind resistance is on a treadmill. I avoid the proper gym part of the gym and go to the fitness classes where there's someone shouting at me to keep going, rather than calling it a day after the initial stretches.
Today it was Body Jam, which is basically dancing for exercise. Cleverly, they make the dance moves easy enough that you can attempt them but complicated enough that you have to concentrate really hard, so no-one is looking at anyone else's dan
After the class you get a chance to look at the others. Most peope had turned beetroot, except the teacher who was getting ready to do another class straight afterwards. Looking in the mirror in the changing rooms I found that my cheeks had turned a pleasant shade of raspberry. Well, it would have been pleasant on a raspberry. Anyway, it was better than beetroot.
You get some strange looks going home afterwards, with your cheeks still glowing. Men seem to find it very attractive, even though the make-up is all sweated off. Maybe they think it makes you look young and vigorous, although it's actually caused by not being young or vigorous enough to jump around for an hour without turning into a soft fruit.
The good thing about going to the gym, of course, is that it gives you license to eat a really unhealthy lunch afterwards - otherwise what would be the point? And as long as I don't mention which gym when I slip it into conversation in the lift, it might gain me some office-cred, too. Oh yes, promotion beckons.