Tuesday, February 14, 2006

The machines! The machines!

It sometimes feels as if I spend my entire life counting the minutes until my eventual demise (at the age of a hundred and three, surrounded by gin, chocolate and satin pillows, thank you).

I revel in the eight-minute extra snooze that my alarm clock allows me. I count the time it takes to microwave my breakfast porridge. I tut and look at my watch while waiting for Mrs Persistently-Late to open the classroom door in the morning. Of course, I watch the clock (mostly on people’s blogs….) during the working day. Twice a week when I go to the hospital for my phototherapy I count off fifteen minutes soaking in the solution, five minutes drying time and ten minutes on the groovy light-machine thingy (I haven’t asked too many technical questions as there isn’t any point. If I am told the complicated answers my mind will immediately revert to thirteen-year-old type and start huffing and make me kick the floor and scowl and think about boys and huff a bit more because, like, nobody understands me).

If I go to the gym, sorry, when I go to the gym, I count the minutes on the treadmill. I count as if my very life depended on it because I’m fairly sure that sometimes it does. I make myself do half an hour* on the treadmill because it’s all that I can stand, and even this is pretty much beyond me. I’m signed up for the Race for Life this year and I know that at some point I really have to start training properly. However, my complete lack of commitment coupled with my abject failure to give up smoking when I go to the pub is hampering this slightly. So, a couple of times a week, I clamber clumsily onto the treadmill, lie to it about my weight (owing to paranoia that someone will see it if I tell the truth and it will be broadcast over the public address system: “Fat girl on treadmill three!!! Fat girl!! See the fat girl!!”), and spend thirty minutes in desperate discomfort, trying not to think about the ignominy of dropping dead in unfashionable trainers and a sports bra which should probably have been consigned to the bin around the time of David Blunkett’s first resignation. Just counting the seconds gets boring after about a minute and a half, and makes me feel slightly panicky to boot. So I irritate the bejesus out of everyone around me by continually pressing the button that changes the display from minutes to distance to km per hour to calories per hour to actual calories burned (which is wildly inaccurate owing to the fact that I have lied about my weight but I console myself by remembering that at least I’m burning off more calories than it says) to the pretty lights showing how long you’ve run without dropping dead and back to minutes. And then I do it again. Every time I press the button it beeps but I can’t hear it because I’ve got my iPod up loud which is also irritating to those around me because every so often I forget where I am and start singing along. Add to this the fact that I am generally red-faced, sweating and on the verge of collapse and it will be obvious why a) I don’t like going to the gym and b) nobody else likes it when I go to the gym. But go I must, if only because it means I can justify not losing any weight in a week that involved an eight-hour lager-drinking session and a curry by reminding myself smugly that muscle weighs more than fat and that’s why I’ve put on 2lb.

*Do you see how I have been ambiguous about my patheticness in the hope that it will seem as if I actually run for half an hour rather than owning up to** the reality of running for five minutes/sweating and gasping for three/running for five minutes/crying for ten/giving up that I actually achieve most times? I so rule!!

** Ah.


Blogger Urban Chick chimed in with...


*worries how closely this description resembles self*

14 February, 2006 19:55  
Blogger funny thing chimed in with...

Race for Life?
Piece of cake! Here is your answer, sg.
Do what I did last year and dress up as an aubergine.
You can't run if you're an aubergine, it's illegal.

14 February, 2006 20:14  
Blogger 30-Something chimed in with...

I lie to the treadmill too but I give myself extra weight in the hope it will take pity on me and make the time go by super quick and when I increase the gradient it will make the digits go up but not the actual gradiet for fear of giving the big fat twat with the beetroot red face a heart attack and give the gym staff a bad name.

14 February, 2006 20:39  
Anonymous Whinger chimed in with...

The other people at the gym DESERVE to be annoyed, as so often they're on the machine I want.

14 February, 2006 20:58  
Anonymous Piggy and Tazzy chimed in with...


14 February, 2006 21:09  
Blogger Kyahgirl chimed in with...

so what is wrong with this? sounds just like my workout (except my workout happens in the basement because I'm never* allowed to leave my house!)

*slight exaggeration

14 February, 2006 22:18  
Blogger Kyahgirl chimed in with...

p.s. happy v-day sg.

14 February, 2006 22:20  
Blogger Spinsterella chimed in with...

I don't think women should run. Not if they're bigger than an AA cup anyhow - it can't be good for you.

15 February, 2006 08:17  
Anonymous Other Half chimed in with...

Does the same rule apply to men ?

15 February, 2006 09:15  
Blogger surly girl chimed in with...

yes. emphatically so.

ft - an aubergine? really?

15 February, 2006 11:22  
Anonymous Other Half chimed in with...

Perhaps a snug leotard would keep everything in place...see what I did there ?

15 February, 2006 11:31  
Blogger funny thing chimed in with...

Yep. An aubergine.

It was actually a stalk hat that I made (complete with ladybird) and a bin-bag stuffed with screwed up newspaper... and me in the middle of it.
VERY hot, I tell you.

Sounds crap; looked good. I walked all the way and got cheered many times over for my efforts and interviewed on local radio.

Fantastic scam.
I thought I might go for some kind of root vegetable this year.

15 February, 2006 13:13  
Blogger First Nations chimed in with...

avoid the gym. avoid it, i say. stick with those four basic food groups: caffeine, saturated fat, refined sugar and chocolate. thats my diet regime. i look like tyra banks.
only fatter. and whiter. and older. and poorer.
never mind.

15 February, 2006 15:18  
Blogger Tabby Rabbit chimed in with...

I lie to the treadmill too - though don't know what I weigh in kgs so just guess what I think would be a 'faily normal' amount. Like 40 kgs or so...

Have tried putting towel over machine display so am not watching every second but I just spend whole time peeping underneath (and greatly increasing chances of falling off treadmill)

15 February, 2006 18:37  
Blogger surly girl chimed in with...

tabby, that has been one of my tricks in the past but i got extremely fed up with peeping under the towel and then accidentally switching the treadmill off when putting the towel back...

15 February, 2006 20:07  
Blogger crisiswhatcrisis chimed in with...

I once laughed out loud at a fat bloke who couldn't keep up and fell over on the treadmill. He scudded across the gym floor on his face like a skipping stone on a pond.

I should feel guilty about this. But I don't.

16 February, 2006 10:05  
Anonymous Dave F chimed in with...

No one needs the gym. I do a 45-min walk every day, running up all the hills and mountain roads and walking on the flat bits; followed by a serious dumbbell workout at home with decent music instead of shite. Mountain hike -- to the top -- once a a week. Pilates session once a week, which is pure enjoyment and a great abs workout ... My diet is three squares a day, low fat, high fibre, high protein, no dairy (except yoghurt). Plus an apple a day and peanuts and raisins to keep the protein intake up in between. I've lost 12kg in five months. And had fun doing it. I go out to dinner a lot too.

Should I write Dave F's Weight Loss for Dummies?

16 February, 2006 19:23  
Blogger surly girl chimed in with...

only if you write an acknowledgement to the effect that your diet only works for people who aren't trying to cope with a full-time job, semi-single parenthood, an ongoing divorce, buying a house and a deep-rooted love of bread and marmite.

that aside, you go, dave f!!

16 February, 2006 19:28  
Blogger the Beep chimed in with...

I ADORE bread and marmite. I could never follow a diet that excluded it. It may even have to come to my desert island with me...

...soryy I'm a bit late...

19 February, 2006 22:17  

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