Monday, June 21, 2004
Breakfast at Fitness First
I had it all worked out. Sunday :
1)go to church
2)Go to gym
3)Finish Job Apps
Somewhere after 1), and slightly before 3) things went slightly pear-shaped.
Despite my brain's best attempts at controlling my feet, I found myself mysteriously standing by the Thames, which is, oh, only about 30 minutes walk from the gym. I love walking along the Thames. I don't know why, it's grubby and grey, but something about the pure expanse of open space... and seagulls wheeling in the air... and condoms floati - err scratch that one - ... gives me a sense of utter freedom, and lifts away my mundane little worries and life-stresses like nothing else can. The only thing better, IMO is a hot cup of Border's chai latte. (which I'm having now. Ooohh. Ahhhh. Mmmmm. Yesssss.)
Another ten minutes later, I was standing in Covent Garden listening to the Last Remaining Friend in London distressedly unleashing her tides of woe and fear upon me. (Job applications can do that to a bloke. Or bird.)
Her voice was practically quavering with fear, and somewhere slightly beyond it I could sense imminent tears.
So, what the hell, sod the gym. (eh?)
Suddenly, twenty minutes later I've
1) discovered the route of the RV1 Riverside Bus, and watched all manner of geria... - OLD - fogeys striding confidently past. You know that Knight Bus in Harry Potter 3? Well, imagine the complete opposite and you'll have a handle on the RV1. It didn't help that everytime we met another RV1 crawling by in the opposite direction the drivers would stop in the middle of the road for a bit of a natter. fume.
and then...
2) ...I'm sitting in her posh Butler's Wharf flat feasting on posh takeaway pizza and imbibing (a little too much) posh - and simply exquisite Moscato d'Asti white wine, and playing pretend-interviewer to Ms Bundle of Nerves.
I dunno if I helped her. Hope so. It's all in the wrist. Oops, that was something else. I mean, it's a sleight of brain. Lie, through your teeth. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't have followed my mum's path and become a lawyer instead...
(fear leads to anger. anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering...)
I do know that I didn't go to the gym, or complete my job apps either. bugger.
So this morning, at the crack of (a beautiful, cloudless, made-for-thames-walking) dawn, I bravely ventured forth to the vaguely remembered realm known as "The Gym", which I last visited, ah, a year ago. (blame the job. blame the job!)
Whaddahey. This place is overflowing with hot, sweaty body-beautiful people... At 0730 am?!?
And is it just my imagination, or is it a very... select... type of woman who works out with weights?? Damn, they can bench press more than I!
Cough, not, of course, that I can do a great deal. Atrophy is a nasty thing. Sniff.
Much to my distress, I discovered I could no longer reliably press / haul / push / shove / squeeze / lug the weights I remembered , and had to set all my mental presets back about 10 kg. For everything. agh.
Naturally, by the time I emerged from "The Gym" a mere hour later, it had turned cold, grey and drizzly.
Ah well. There will be other days.
Oh yeah. And it's also a select type of woman who runs on the treadmill at this particular gym. The poor dears don't seem to be able to afford much in the way of clothes.
Yummy.
*****
I've only just realised this was only available in the UK. So, for the rest of the world - click! It's funny :)
1)go to church
2)Go to gym
3)Finish Job Apps
Somewhere after 1), and slightly before 3) things went slightly pear-shaped.
Despite my brain's best attempts at controlling my feet, I found myself mysteriously standing by the Thames, which is, oh, only about 30 minutes walk from the gym. I love walking along the Thames. I don't know why, it's grubby and grey, but something about the pure expanse of open space... and seagulls wheeling in the air... and condoms floati - err scratch that one - ... gives me a sense of utter freedom, and lifts away my mundane little worries and life-stresses like nothing else can. The only thing better, IMO is a hot cup of Border's chai latte. (which I'm having now. Ooohh. Ahhhh. Mmmmm. Yesssss.)
Another ten minutes later, I was standing in Covent Garden listening to the Last Remaining Friend in London distressedly unleashing her tides of woe and fear upon me. (Job applications can do that to a bloke. Or bird.)
Her voice was practically quavering with fear, and somewhere slightly beyond it I could sense imminent tears.
So, what the hell, sod the gym. (eh?)
Suddenly, twenty minutes later I've
1) discovered the route of the RV1 Riverside Bus, and watched all manner of geria... - OLD - fogeys striding confidently past. You know that Knight Bus in Harry Potter 3? Well, imagine the complete opposite and you'll have a handle on the RV1. It didn't help that everytime we met another RV1 crawling by in the opposite direction the drivers would stop in the middle of the road for a bit of a natter. fume.
and then...
2) ...I'm sitting in her posh Butler's Wharf flat feasting on posh takeaway pizza and imbibing (a little too much) posh - and simply exquisite Moscato d'Asti white wine, and playing pretend-interviewer to Ms Bundle of Nerves.
I dunno if I helped her. Hope so. It's all in the wrist. Oops, that was something else. I mean, it's a sleight of brain. Lie, through your teeth. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't have followed my mum's path and become a lawyer instead...
(fear leads to anger. anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering...)
I do know that I didn't go to the gym, or complete my job apps either. bugger.
So this morning, at the crack of (a beautiful, cloudless, made-for-thames-walking) dawn, I bravely ventured forth to the vaguely remembered realm known as "The Gym", which I last visited, ah, a year ago. (blame the job. blame the job!)
Whaddahey. This place is overflowing with hot, sweaty body-beautiful people... At 0730 am?!?
And is it just my imagination, or is it a very... select... type of woman who works out with weights?? Damn, they can bench press more than I!
Cough, not, of course, that I can do a great deal. Atrophy is a nasty thing. Sniff.
Much to my distress, I discovered I could no longer reliably press / haul / push / shove / squeeze / lug the weights I remembered , and had to set all my mental presets back about 10 kg. For everything. agh.
Naturally, by the time I emerged from "The Gym" a mere hour later, it had turned cold, grey and drizzly.
Ah well. There will be other days.
Oh yeah. And it's also a select type of woman who runs on the treadmill at this particular gym. The poor dears don't seem to be able to afford much in the way of clothes.
Yummy.
*****
I've only just realised this was only available in the UK. So, for the rest of the world - click! It's funny :)
