As a rule I despise exercise. The idea of dragging my chubby carcass to the
gym in front of a room of spandex clad eighteen year old's, and getting that
look of “oh look, here comes one of the January gym goer” fills me with
resentment. I mean, we didn’t complain
when they visited our pubs in December!
However I know that in order for me to get the best results from
Slimming World, I need to work towards one of my Body Magic awards.
Today’s gym session wasn’t actually too bad. The gym wasn’t nearly as busy as I thought it
would be, and with it being the local leisure complex gym, the gym bunny to
normal person ratio was actually in my favour for once. It’s been quite a while since I last went to
the gym, and my first hurdle was actually getting through the barcode scanning turnstile
that they have in the entrance. These
things never bloody work for me...I spent thirty seconds waving my membership
card in front of it, only for nothing to happen. By this point a queue of people also trying
to get in had formed behind me.
Accepting defeat I attempted to turn, and head to the main reception to
complain that my card wasn’t working.
There I was, one lone chubby girl trying to push back through a
substantial queue, (I can only imagine that this is pretty much how salmon feel
most days) when the damned thing finally decided to play ball, and I heard the
clunk of admittance, and saw the big red LED arrow signalling I could enter. This turnstile was a dick though, and timed
out just as I’d made my way back and attempted to push through it. This resulted in another thirty seconds of
embarrassing card waving, and a painfully awkward wait for it to finally let me
in. I noticed that the next person in
the queue had no such issues getting in, which I’m pretty sure means the turnstile
has it in for me and me alone.
Once I was in though, and my wounded pride had got over
itself, I headed straight for the cross trainer. I’ve had a operations on both knees, so the
lower impact nature of the cross trainer is great for me to clock up a good
thirty minutes of continuous cardio. In
the past I’ve always chosen a manual programme on all of the machines, but
inspired to burn some serious calories, I opted for the “Fat Burner” interval
programme. It’s at this point that I
discovered...the cross trainer is also
a dick. The interval programme moves
through levels of intensity when it comes to resistance, and for the first ten
to fifteen minutes, the intensity gradually increased, then slowly decreased. The last fifteen minutes however followed no
such pattern. In fact, in an effort to
completely throw me, it jumped from a low resistance to the highest, this dick
move #1 by the cross trainer effectively made me look like a tomato red
Duracell bunny once my batteries had finally run down. I mean I’d got a good stride going, and great
pace, and the BAM! High resistance hell...It was like trying to wade through
half-set cement! I wasn’t going to be
deterred though. I pushed on...I’m a
freaking athlete! Grrrr...My pace increased, I found my flow and before I knew
it I’d found my rhythm again. Cue cross
trainer dick move #2...I’m steaming along at the higher resistance, when
WHOOSH! It drops to the minimum
resistance. Now have you ever started
jogging down a slight incline, only for it to steepen suddenly? Gravity takes hold and before you know it
your legs are out of control in an effort to keep you on for feet, rather than
face-plant and essentially roll down the rest of the hill...well that was me
going from highest to lowest resistance on that blasted cross trainer.
Needless to say, whilst I managed to get a good
forty-five minutes of cardio in overall, the cross trainer and turnstile are
both in my bad books at the moment. I
can’t avoid the turnstile (pity), but I may have to avoid the cross trainer
until I’ve cooled off. My next adventure
is going to involve the bike, and knowing my luck I’ll end up Bridget Jones-ing
it off the bike with jelly legs.
Either way
I’m determined to find the exercise that’s right for me. So like food, I’m not
going to dismiss anything until I’ve tried it.
That Body Magic award will be mine.
For now though, I’m going to bed to rest my aching muscles.
Nighty-Night!
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