Today at the gym (four times in a row! GO ME!), before the class even started, I managed to:
1. Drop a barbell on my thumb, creating the kind of pain that makes your heart rise into your mouth, and makes you feel like you’re going to throw up any second.
2. During a gap in the ear-splittingly loud music that was playing at the time, shout out the phrase, “HE LIKES TO STOP AND PEE ALL THE TIME!”
I think I may be starting to understand why I’m Amber-No-Mates at the gym…
(On that second one, I was having a shouted conversation with Terry at the time, about a man I’d spotted through the window, who was out running with his two dogs.
Me: I wish I could go running with Rubin!
Terry: You could go running with Rubin.
Me: No I couldn’t: I’d never get to do any running because he…
[MUSIC STOPS]
Well, you know the rest. And so does everyone who was in Body Pump this morning. Gah.)
On the plus side, this product, on sale in the gym’s reception, always makes me smile, so it’s a good job I always have my phone camera with me at the gym, for those “pretending to be busy” moments:
OMG, size zero! Isn’t it terrible the pressure kids are under to be skinny these days? Particularly given that, as we all know for a fact, size zero is ugly and unattractive, and ALL MEN hate women who are that size. Because those women are not “real” women. Nosiree.
Note: I’m being sarcastic, by the way, just in case anyone didn’t realise. (And trust me, I have to say that because there’s pretty much always someone who doesn’t. Case in point: the angry comments I sometimes get on this entry from people who want to tell me off for being so “nasty” about redheads and “hating on them”. Because yes, folks, I am secretly one of the redhead hatrz. That’s why I have this headfull of red hair, you know? Because I hate it. Not as much as I hate the use of the phrase “hating on”, though.)
Where was I? Oh yes, size zero. Yes, I was being sarcastic above, because God knows, this is my pet hate right now, the way people would never in a million years make a derogatory comment about larger women (and quite rightly so), but think it’s absolutely fine to call thin ones “ugly” and tell them endlessly than no men find them attractive. Names like “stick insects” and “lollipop heads” and “skeletons” are bandied about with gay abandon in the UK media right now (and particularly in the fashion blogosphere, where slagging off the skinny girls is de rigeur these days), but overweight people are regularly described as “curvy” and “voluptuous” and “real women”. (What are the thin ones, then? Imaginary?)
It winds me up. So much, in fact, that I don’t think I can even trust myself to write any more about it without it degenarating into an incoherent rant. Even more so than it has already, I mean. Here, have a picture of my dog:
Tagged the gym
People, my winter holiday is BACK ON. Even if I have to, I dunno, sell Rubin or something to pay for it. Because seriously, folks. SERIOUSLY. Enough with the rain already. I mean, people had to be rescued by boat from the town next door to ours last night because of all the rain/flooding, and other people had to be airlifted to the local hospital because of it. Which would really, really suck, you know?
Now, we live in Scotland, where it’s pretty much all hills, all the time, so trust me: we just don’t get that much flooding. I’m starting to feel like we’re in The Bible or something. I’m also starting to think that if we don’t get the hell out of Dodge, and soon, we’ll grow webbed feet and have to learn how to breathe under water. And I know that sounds cool, but I just don’t think it would be somehow.
The result of all of this apocalyptic weather? As I said, the winter holiday is a goer. It looks like we will just be going to the Canaries, which is exactly what I thought would happen, because there is seriously nowhere cheaper (that’s within five hours of the UK and hot at that time of year), but at this point I really don’t care because GIVE ME SUN. Please. I’m desperate here.
In slightly better news, my stint at the gym last Thursday turned out not to be an isolated event after all, and so far I have been every day this week (I know!), doing Body Pump, Body Combat and, today, Body Attack. So, yeah, I feel like my body really has been attacked now, for sure.
I also feel kind of like the new girl at high school, because the thing about all of these classes is that everyone else already seems to know each other. Now, I know people are always recommending the gym as a place to make new friends, but I just don’t see how that can be done easily – and not just because people tend to take an instant dislike to me. (No, seriously, I think it’s because my "resting face" is a frown. And maybe because if I don’t have my contact lenses on, I will walk right past people without recognising them, and that tends to cause offence.) I mean, how do you make friends at the gym? Do you just walk up to people while they’re on the treadmill and stand next to them shouting, "HI! WILL YOU BE MY FRIEND?" Because that would be weird.
Note: I don’t actually go to the gym to make friends, by the way. I go to the gym because I like making myself look like someone who has only recently learned how to walk unaided, obviously. It’s just that, when I walk into these classes, I always have a bit of a sinking feeling as I realise that everyone else is standing around in little cliques, and then I have to sit down on the floor by myself and pretend there is something super-interesting on my phone that I absolutely have to look at RIGHT NOW.
In conclusion: I suck at making friends with people. But I have been to the gym three times already this week so, you know, yay me!
Last night when I looked at my diary to see what I had planned for today (because obviously my life is SO busy that I need to do that. I mean, it’s not like I could just write "Blog, eat, sleep" every day and be done with it, is it?) I found that I had written:
"9.15am – Amber"
Eh? The hell? Was I planning on being more "Amber" than usual at 9.15am? Or did I feel I’d need a reminder that I was Amber at 9.15am? Or am I just going crazy? I’m guessing Terry would probably go with "crazy", because despite the fact that everyone totally agreed with me that the whole "reading at the gym" thing = a bit weird, really, he is still maintaining that it’s a perfectly normal thing to do. His argument seems to involve proximity to the sauna and jacuzzi, which I guess could very well dupe people into thinking they were, in fact, at an expensive day spa and not AT THE GYM. Personally I think all the screaming children would convince me otherwise, but hey, that’s just me. (Also, Terry? You’re wrong.)
Oh, and 9:15am this morning was body pump, by the way. Not "Amber". 9:15am tomorrow is my first attempt at Body Combat, and I’m actually quite worried about this because apparently the fact that the schools are now on holiday means that hardly anyone goes to the classes all summer (there were only a handful of us in Body Pump today), and I’m having horrible visions of it just being me, on my lonesome, prancing around in front of the instructor rather than just hiding at the back of the room, like I usually do in classes. That would clearly be embarrassing enough in itself, but when you consider how clumsy I am (this morning I’d only been in the studio for two minutes and I’d already dropped my step and almost knocked over a whole pile of barbells), and I’m sure you can understand my fear…
Anyway, you will have gathered from all of this talk about gyms that my trip to the opticians on Friday was a relative success and I was not diagnosed with a fatal brain tumour. Or, indeed, any kind of "seen through the eye" tumor. Result! In fact, it seems my eyesight has actually improved since my last visit. Given that on my last visit it had improved from the visit before that, I’m guessing that within a few years I’ll be back to 20-20 vision again, and since I haven’t had 20-20 vision since I was about 9 years old, I’m quite excited.
The bad news is, for reasons to boring to go into here, I had to move to a different type of contact lens, which is more expensive than the ones I’ve been using. The cost of this isn’t huge, but it has made me wonder again about maybe getting my eyes lasered at some point. Terry is currently thinking about doing this too, but of course, Terry is brave and I am not, so I’m wondering: is the thought of not having to wear contacts any more enough to persuade me to allow a laser to be beamed into my eyes? (MY EYES! MY EYES!) Hmmmm. The jury is still out at the moment, but if any of you have had this done, please feel free to share your experiences…
I have to go to the opticians tomorrow, for my usual annual checkup. This worries me, for two reasons:
1. What if the optician looks into my eyes with his little light-stick thing, and spots a huge tumour growing in my brain? That can totally happen, you know, and the reason I know this is because I constantly get hits to this website from visitors who have Googled some variation of the phrase "OMG, opticians can totally spot brain tumours and that could happen to YOU, dude!"
Also, my optician has a tendency to make lots of sombre "Hmmmm" noises as he looks at my eyes, and my fevered brain tends to translate these sounds as "Hmmm, I wonder how I’m going to tell her about the massive brain tumour I’ve just spotted behind her left eye?" so by the time he tells me to "take a seat in the big chair" I always think the unspoken end of that sentence is "because you’re going to want to be sitting down for what I’m about to tell you." So, lots of fun there, then.
2. When he switches off the lights in the room and gets out the little light stick thing, which he then waves about in front of me, I always think he looks like he’s rave dancing. You know, like in the 90s? When people used to carry those day-glo sticks to raves and make "whooo! whoo!" sounds while waving them around? (* Has clearly never been to a rave in her life*) So that makes me want to laugh. Like, really, really badly. Luckily, I’m usually able to prevent myself from laughing by thinking about the brain tumour, though, so we’re all good.
Also, just while we’re talking about the gym, (see that effortless transition there? That’s why I am a writer.) today when Terry and I went to Body Pump, I happened to glance down at the pool, which you can see through one of the windows in the Body Pump studio, and noticed that it was surrounded by women in snazzy swimsuits who were all just lounging around reading novels. In the GYM. For an hour. So, they were basically pretending to be sunbathing, only without any sun (because they were indoors), or a pool bar, or a martini or anything.
Anyway, I mentioned to Terry that this seemed a bit strange to me (because it’s a gym) and then he gave me that, "Oh my God, I have married a moron" look he does so well, and explained that no, it’s me who is a bit strange, and that there is nothing more normal in the world than to head down to the gym with your beach towel and a paperback. Apparently this is what all the cool kids are doing now. And then I felt stupid, because I normally just read in bed, where there are no screaming children or judgmental redheads walking by, and now I realise that I’ve been missing out on a whole world of sunless sunbathing at the gym. RELAXING: UR DOIN IT RONG!
Maybe I should give it a try?
A long time ago, in a land not-so-very-far from here, there lived a beautiful princess young woman who decided to take a step class at her local gym. “I shall take a step class,” said the young woman. “Because I bet that won’t hurt AT ALL.”
So she did take the step class. And it did hurt. But not half so much as it hurt the next morning when the young woman tried to get out of bed and instantly fell flat on her face. Somehow, in the still watches of the night, her poor, tired leg muscles had seized up completely, leaving her legs “frozen” in a sort of “sitting down position”. The young woman could straighten her legs, but not without a great deal of pain, so she was forced to walk around all day long with her legs in that same, “sitting down” position. This sucked, especially given that she now had a flat face too, after falling out of the bed.
At this time, the young woman worked in an office which could only be accessed via a steep flight of stairs. Of course, when our heroine arrived at that office, still in her leg-locked, hunchback position, she found she couldn’t negotiate this staircase while standing up. Because she was a determined young woman – and also: a stupid one – however, she decided to persevere, and made her way up the stairs by sitting down on her poor, aching butt (also injured during the step class) and hauling herself up with her arms (thankfully functioning normally). She made her way back down in the same, ungainly fashion.
After that, the young woman didn’t go to step class no more. But years passed, and as she grew older but no wiser, the young woman started to realise that she could not possibly continue to eat the Easter chocolate at such a rate without doing something to work it off, so the young woman had a long, hard think to herself, and she thought, “I know! I will take a Body Pump class! Because I bet lifting heavy weights for 45 minutes won’t hurt AT ALL, and that whole “step class” fiasco was probably just a fluke.”
And so it was that our heroine found herself in a Body Pump class, lifting weights to music. And almost instantly, she realised that this? Was a mistake. Even although there were other people in the class who’d never done Body Pump before either, the instructor decided to focus her attention on our heroine. “Everyone add more weights to their bar!” she would shout encouragingly. “Ginger girl at the back: go down to the lightest weight possible!”
It was during a set of exercises known only to the girl as “Oh my holy God, why am I doing this?” that our heroine realised she was in trouble. Because, you know that scene in Harry Potter where Harry has all the bones removed from his arm and had to grown them back? That’s exactly how her arms felt. Only without the “growing back” bit. Because the girl was still stupid, though, she persevered. “Am I not the girl who once ran for 49 minutes and two seconds before almost fainting with exhaustion, after all?” she asked herself. She was, indeed, that girl. But perhaps a better question to ask herself would have been, “Am I not the girl who once fell off her bike twice in thirty seconds?” because seriously, WHO PUTS THEMSELVES THROUGH THIS KIND OF CRAP?
Well, I do. For this, people, was no fairytale. I AM THAT GIRL. Today? My legs aren’t quite “frozen”, like they were after step, but I’ve been avoiding the stairs as best I can all day, and let’s just say I’m really worried about how I’m going to get my wine glass to and from my mouth tomorrow.
And next week? I’m going to do it again. And I’m also thinking of signing up for Body Attack. Because seriously, I bet that won’t hurt AT ALL…
Tagged the gym
It’s my birthday today. I mean, I actually celebrated my birthday on Saturday, which was the only time I was able to fit it into my hectic schedule, but as today is the actual day, I guess it’s only appropriate to mention that I AM THE BIRTHDAY GIRL. Yay, me! No, I STILL did not get a pony. Jesus.
I celebrated by running on the treadmill at the gym for 49 straight minutes last night. Forty. Nine. Minutes. Clearly I was aiming for a perfect 50, but at 49 minutes and two seconds my body suddenly piped up and told me that if I didn’t stop running RIGHT NOW, it had ways to make me. Those ways included blisters on both my feet, my life flashing before my eyes, and me still not being able to walk properly today. Happy birthday to me! So near but yet so far. Story of my life!
Still, 49 minutes. Am old, but not yet finished…
 For this week’s Friday Photo, I present the evidence of the one and only time in my life when I was persuaded that dungarees were an acceptable item of clothing. Of course, I didn’t call them “dungarees”. No, to me they were, and forever shall be, “dongledees”. (“Dong’el’deez”). To this day, I have a deep and abiding mistrust of anything that looks even remotely like it could be related to the “dongledee” family. Hey, I wonder why?
In other news, the gym called. They wanted my membership card, my free towel and a written undertaking to never whine about them on the Internet again. Nah, I’m just kidding – although this would possibly be a much more interesting post if they had. No, the gym were doing one of their regular “user surveys”, and let me tell you it COULD NOT HAVE COME AT A BETTER TIME. Terry took the call, and I could see from the panicked glances he was casting in my direction that he was thinking, “Oh God, what have you said in your blog this time?). But it was all good. In fact, the manager who called us said there had been other complaints about the “pool full of kids” things, and that this is something that tends to happen any time there’s any influx of new members, which there has been after new year, as everyone makes resolutions to get fit, lose weight, and leave their offspring in the middle of the fast swimming lane while they lounge in the spa.
Anyway, the woman said the gym are going to “take steps” to resolve the situation, and hey, you know, “steps” are all I ask. So basically Amber – 1, The Gym – 0. Even although I didn’t actually do anything other than whining in my blawg.
In yet other news, our house is still standing after the Watergate affair, but I’m not sure how much longer that’ll last. The huge crack o’doom in the ceiling (or ‘Mount Doom’ as I like to call it) had widened, and also bulged, giving every appearance of being about to fall down or heads at any seconds. The wood floors in the hall and living room, meanwhile, are slowly rising UP to meet the ceiling (Terry says no one else but me would even notice this, but I think not. And also: don’t care, I want it fixed.). Everything else, including me, Terry and the dog, is just permanently coated in a thick layer of dust, which is replenished every time Terry goes to the bathroom and begins knocking more tiles off.
I was trying to clean this dust up as we went along, but I started to feel like I was fighting a losing battle with that one so recently I, er, just haven’t been bothering. I’m not much liking this “2008″ business AT ALL, to tell you the truth…
Now, I know I said "never again" in regards to the thorny issue of myself and the pool at the gym, but because I NEVER LEARN, I went back there today. And because I apparently have no problem whatsoever with repeating the same story multiple times, I say to you again today: NEVER AGAIN. Because the pool at the gym? Was full of babies. And also: toddlers.
Now, I know this entry will cause a whole barrel load of controversy amongst the parents who read it, so let me just make my usual disclaimer and say that I do not dislike babies. But I was really surprised to see so many of them in the pool this afternoon because:
a) I hadn’t bothered reading the Rules of the Gym, and therefore was under the impression that children weren’t allowed in it.
and
b) It’s a pool AT A GYM. Where people go to exercise. Not to play "dodge the floating baby" and get dirty looks from parents every time you swim too close to their offspring.
Not, of course, that there was much in the way of exercise going on today (or, indeed, on ANY day that I’ve tried to swim, because this wasn’t a Sunday thing: every time I’ve gone to the gym lately, it’s been more like a creche than an exercise facility). In fact, most of the 5000 people who had dutifully turned up at the pool (some of whom were all kitted out in ear plugs and bathing caps and everything) were all crammed into the hot tub, unable to swim because THE POOL WAS FILLED WITH BABIES. And toddlers.
The noise level was deafening. This was partly because they’re having the sauna refurbished, of course, but it was mostly because all of the babies were screaming at the tops of their little lungs, managing to achieve that particular pitch that only babies can scream at. You know, that sound that makes your hair stand on end and your head feel like it’s actually going to explode? That’s the sound they were making. Constantly.
There were eight of them in the extra-wide lane, but their numbers had swollen to 11 by the time I left. There were two of them in the "Fast Lane". THE FAST LANE! And they were not swimming "fast", let me tell you – well, they were about five, so they wouldn’t be, would they? In fact, they were not even swimming at all: they were just splashing around crazily, and blocking the lane so that no one else could use it for, you know, swimming. Which is kind of the whole reason we pay money for a GYM subscription.
So, number of children in the pool: 13. (Plus one in the hot tub, which is NOT ALLOWED.)
Number of lanes available for swimming in: 1
Number of minutes it took me to give up and retire to the changing room (Where I was treated to the drama of Little Johnny* locking himself in one of the shower cubicles while his mother stood outside saying "I’m not going to tell you again… Really, I’m not going to tell you again…" so many times that it would have been comical had I not been so distracted by all of the little boys who were standing around staring at me as I got changed) : about ten. I’m actually amazed I lasted that long, but clearly I have a masochistic streak in me that made me curious to see just how bad things could get.
I don’t blame the babies. They were just doing what babies do. No, I blame the parents (God, I wondered when I’d finally be so old and curmudgeonly that I’d get to hear myself say that!) who had allowed their children to take over the entire pool, totally ignoring the signs that tell you to SWIM CLOCKWISE and instead allowing their offspring to float around anti-clockwise (In the "fast lane"!), diagonally, backwards, sideways, and, in fact ALL WAYS, as they played with a selection of floats and inflatable toys. And screamed.
The parents themselves, meanwhile, all just crammed themselves into the jacuzzi (Population: 12), and ignored the fracas around them. I BLAME THEM. And I wouldn’t even mind so much, were it not for the fact that this happens now every single time I try to swim. I use the word "try" advisedly here, because it’s not a huge pool, and it becomes impossible to swim lengths in it when it’s that crammed full of kids playing. If it was a community pool, I would understand and expect it to be like this. But it’s not. It’s a swimming pool at at GYM, so you’d think it wouldn’t be considered too unreasonable for people to expect to be able to swim there. But you’d be wrong, of course.
As I left the changing room, I picked up one of the comments cards which they have dotted around the place for you to make suggestions about improvements to the gym. (My suggestion: maybe consider making it possible for people to exercise occasionally. You know, while they’re at the GYM? That they’re paying quite a lot of money for? Be a novel idea, anyway…) Before I had time to examine it, though, and work out how I would be able to essentially condense this entry into the five lines they allow you, I was disturbed by what sounded like around forty party "tooters" (that has to be a made up word, surely?) being blown by forty hyperactive children. And indeed, as I glanced up in the direction of the noise, a conga line of small children made their way down the stairs from the gym, each enthusiastically blowing on a "tooter".
I swear to God, you couldn’t make this stuff up.
* For those of you who are wondering, by the way, Little Johnny was finally liberated from the shower cubicle, and proceeded to run around the changing room, followed by his harassed mother, who was screaming "KEEP YOU PANTS ON! I WON’T TELL YOU AGAIN!" at the top of her voice at two second intervals. There’s nothing like a relaxing Sunday afternoon swim, is there? No, I mean literally: there is NOTHING LIKE a relaxing Sunday afternoon swim. Not while The Others are on the case, anyway…
What’s that in my hand, I hear you ask excitedly? (Note: not really, but let’s just pretend, ‘kay?) Oh, nothing much… just my FREE TOWEL that I picked up today, having successfully completed my thirteen visits to the gym in the first month of membership, that’s all:
Whee! Dontchya wish your towel was hot like mine? Dontchya?
It’s ready for its close-up:
“My owner went to the gym and all I got was this lousy towel… P.S. I will probably pee on it later.”
So, yeah, that’s the fruit of all my hard labours at the gym. Kinda crappy really, isn’t it? Now I will never have to go back again! Weird thing, though: during my thirteen-but-actually-fourteen visits to the gym this month, I have actually learned to like it, just a little bit. I mean, today I even ran on the treadmill as opposed to just walking on it while flicking through my iPod playlists, and that’s a really big achievement for me, y’know? In fact, as soon as I’m finished writing this entry, I’m going to go and order me a new green hoodie to replace the old green hoodie that (ahem!) worked out so well for me last year. * Cough * So, it’ll be the new new green hoodie. I am excited already.
Anyway, from the plethora of photos of my towel, and the talk about hoodies, green or otherwise, you will have concluded that either:
a) I am going for the title of “Most Boring Blogger of 2007″ – and looking likely to win it
or
b) There is STILL absolutely nothing happening in my life at the moment.
Um, I guess it’s a bit of both, really, but at least by writing this post I will give my mum something to say when friends of hers ask her what exactly it is that I do for a living - she will now be able to say, with pride, “Oh, you know, she takes pictures of towels and posts them on the Internet. She’s one of those ‘bloggers’.”
As it happens, though, I have been working very hard recently – so hard, in fact, that I have had to take the almost unprecedented step of trying to get up early in the mornings in a bid to fit it all in. Yeah, that sucks. When you tell people you work from home, they instantly imagine it’ll be all sleeping until midday and watching daytime TV, but they are wrong! Sometimes even I have to drag my sorry ass out of bed at a decent hour of the morning, and that really doesn’t go down AT ALL WELL with the sorry ass in question.
This morning, for instance, I was awakened by the alarm on my phone, which I had cleverly set last night, forgetting that sometimes my phone likes to just randomly select a ring tone to apply to its alarm, and sometimes that ringtone is – why, it’s the one that sounds JUST LIKE A RINGING PHONE!
That was how I found myself leaping from my bed in the early hours of this morning, shrieking to Terry that “OMG SOMEONE HAS DIED AGAIN! AGAIN!” Then there was another few brief moments of panic as I decided that it was obviously TERRY who had died, owing to the fact that I bounced around screaming for at least a minute before working out that, whoops, it was just the alarm on the phone, and Terry DID NOT BAT AN EYELID or move a muscle. I think I now know why he never manages to get to the phone in time when The Phantom Phoner calls…
Tagged the gym
I am done with the pool. No, that didn’t take long, did it? And actually, to be fair, it’s not so much the pool I’m done with so much as it’s The Others:
Yes, The Others have troubled me for the very last time – or I hope so, anyway – but they have gone out with a bang, driving me from the pool this afternoon after a mere 15 lengths. Bravo, Others!
See, I was swimming in the super-wide “only really for children and old people” lane. When I arrived, there was only one other person in it. By the time I left, there were five of us, all swimming en masse, and bumping into each other like tadpoles in a jar. Every time I reached the end of the pool and turned round to come back, another person would emerge from the changing room and slide into my lane. The water was so choppy from all of the frantic activity that it was like swimming on a storm-tossed sea, only with Others all around you. So no, not the most pleasant swim I’ve ever had in my life.
In the “fast lane”, which is really only wide enough for one person, there were two Others: one powering up and down at a rate of knots, and the other just floating gently on his back, because he was That Guy Who Wears a Nose Plug Just to Float Around Like a Dead Person.
In the middle lane, meanwhile? Was The Whistler.
I swam for as long as I could stand it, but when I noticed a sixth person beginning to insert himself, sardine-like, into the pool, I decided to get the hell out of Dodge and go and soak in the jacuzzi instead.
Unfortunately, The Whistler decided to come with me.
I went to the poolside showers to wash the chlorine off first, and in the time it took me to get there, The Whistler had made it to the jacuzzi. “PEEP!” he said as I pressed the button to switch on the shower. And “PEEP!” he said again as I turned the shower back off, grabbed my towel and beat my retreat.
I got dressed and went to sit in the lounge to wait for Terry. Before I sat down, though, I wandered over to the window overlooking the pool and looked in. THE POOL WAS EMPTY. EMPTY. When Terry went in, just a few minutes later, he had the whole pool to himself. Gah. Freakin’ Others.
Anyway, clearly this state of affairs cannot continue. With the pool now established as the private domain of The Others (Leader: The Whistler), I’m going to have to venture into the gym itself. GOD. If anyone would like to start placing bets on how long this will last, just let me know. I’m determined it’ll last at least a week, though, so to this end, I went shopping this afternoon to buy gym clothes, on account of I gave all my old gym clothes to the charity shop, thinking I would never need them again. This leaves me with absolutely nothing I can wear to the gym, other than an ancient pair of yoga pants which I bought when I was about 20 and some running shoes Terry bought me five years ago.
Things I Do Not Own:
- Jogging pants
- A hoodie
- Any shorts that are designed for function rather than fashion
- Any t-shirts that are designed for function rather than fashion
- Ummm, what else do people wear to exercise in?!
Things I Have No Particular Wish To Own:
So, I hit the shops and bought these:
And also: a really nice little cashmere blend cardigan with a little bow at the neck, which will be absolutely no use at the gym whatsoever.
So! Ancient pair of yoga pants and old white trainers it is then! I did try to find gym clothes. The problem was that I’m a skinny short ass, so all the pants were way too long and all the tops were way too baggy, and also: I have no idea what people wear to the gym. What do people wear to the gym? Do they wear leggings? Or do they wear… something else? Help me out here, people: what do you wear to the gym?
Tagged the gym, the others, whistlers
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