Kripya order karein!

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Friday, July 8, 2011

Misfit

I recently showed up at the gym where I keep an annual membership. The security guard took one look at me and moved to block the door. Under 'reason for refusal of admittance' he wrote - have never seen her before. It took some convincing before I was finally let through the glass doors behind which lay the key to eternal youth and fitness.

Gyms are funny places. You just need to take a look around before you start seeing the broad types of people who haunt these centers. There are the walking-talking advertisements of gyms as a whole. Found in both male and female types, these folks have a simple and single motive - to make others feel awful about the way they look. You will be trudging along on the treadmill, taking a look every now and then at the timer and wondering if it was working alright because it seemed to be terribly slow before one of these specimens swoops down on the next machine. They will start gliding at speeds that make you giddy and then decide that they had a good warm-up and now may be a good time to push it a little bit. This is when they fire themselves with a bit of plutonium and really start to whizz by. I often take my glasses off at this point and clean them, convinced that the blurry vision is caused by an errant speck of dust. It isn't. It is just Ben Johnson here running as if chased by a packs of Dobes.

Then there are the sulks. These people don't want to come to the gym. They would much rather have a wrestle with the Dobes once they are done with the racers above. But their doctor thinks otherwise and the family, bloody ingrates are in cahoots with the medicine wo/man. They move around slowly and look at everyone with such mournful eyes that the sun gets blighted by a grey cloud cover and everyone feels that they will never be happy again. I have often seen the people who work out next to the sulks burst into howls of misery, such is their power to suck joy out of life.

There are some young men and women who probably treat the gym as a place to scope the dating field. They are dressed attractively and hair is opened and tied up many, many times, sometimes with a becoming swish of the head. Make-up is in evidence and lashes are fluttered. The men are obviously very humorous because these young ladies are often found in the throes of helpless giggles.

There are also the models. We are not worthy, the gym people want to scream and fall down at their feet. With their perfect legs and toned midriffs, the models keep to themselves, working out with a stern 'we are people too' look on their faces.

I could also tell you about the corporate paunch and the housewifely saddle-bags but it is not in my nature to be mean.

The first step in the noble endeavour to regain fitness is obviously weight training. Obvious to the trainer, that is. The first week was tough. The trainer would hand me some weights and ask me to rock some squats or burpees or presses or *insert choice of torture*. Two minutes later, he would tell me that I could start whenever I was ready. I am ready, I squeaked from under the weights, but I don't think they want to be lifted. Tch, tch, went the trainer, look at you, long break, no stamina, no yoga also aa, oho, oho, chalo koi nahin, we will make double the effort.

Double the effort is trainer-speak for double the pain.

I think I go into some kind of an exercise-induced trance once the session is over. Spirits, the evil kind, mind,  take over my body and soul and everything in between and demand sacrifice. We want carbs, they chant, bring forth a loaf of bread and sacrifice it at the altar of your fitness. And don't forget the butter. I don't really want to eat bread, or pasta, or paranthas, or anything that tastes super-duper divinely delicious, as long time readers will testify, with or without their hands on Jane Fonda DVDs. But there's only so much I can do with the supernatural. Only after I have stuffed myself to the gills are the spirits somewhat appeased. Then I need to take a long, long nap to shrug off the remaining effects because one cannot really be too careful with these things. I normally wake up after four hours with a 'where am I' trembling on my lips and a ravenous appetite brought forth by the exorcism.

A few days later after starting the program, I weighed myself with the trainer watching on. And the fat, like a loyal friend, had stuck to me though thick and thin. The trainer looked at the scales with a sense of amazement and wonder misting his eyes. I too tried to look puzzled. What happened, what happened, he moaned. No clue, I said because I know him to be a man of science and logic and my account of the ghost figures wouldn't have gone down very well. I think this impacted the good man a great deal. He has since decided that personal training is too fast-paced a profession for him and has taken to one-legged yoga in the upper hills of the Himalayas. Beats the traffic, I say.

I love exercise and cannot recommend it enough.

11 comments:

Sangeetha said...

Ha ha! You made me LOL!

Sangeetha said...

Ha ha! You made me LOL!

Neha@ Allthingsbeautiful said...

A fun read, for sure! You had me in splits in some parts....

Mom Gone Mad said...

ROTFLMAO. Nuff said:-)

Rishi said...

Heh. Very funny.

Choxbox said...

ROFL!

Supriya said...

You are funny, woman!

i-me-myself said...

OUTDONE yourself..this was soo soo funny Parul..Also, we haven't forgotten how you looked the last time you worked out after Adi..so there's hope. If its any comfort..same state here..trying very hard to fit in 25 mins thrice a week.

Jaya said...

"I love exercise and cannot recommend it enough"....LOL!

Gypsy Girl said...

ROTFLMAO! Loved the post! I have never managed to stick to a gym routine! I thought you were into yoga.. what happened? i plan to join next month.. my baby will be two in september and i've run out of excuses not to get back to pre pregnancy weight!

Vini said...

:D