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
The more observant of you will no doubt have noticed that I haven’t been doing the Friday 5, other than those two times when I’d just started doing it and was all about answering questions about myself. Well, two weeks ago the questions were pretty lame ("Of the people in your life, who has the dreamiest eyes?" Er, who cares?), then last Friday I had that brain tumour, and then today I find that I’m not actually clever enough to answer the questions (Sample question: "What would be a good collective name for your family?" Umm, The McNaughts? Maybe?). So I’m not going to do it. Instead, let’s talk about the gym again. Oh come on, you know you love it…
So, as of today I am three steps closer to getting that precious, precious free towel. (Quick recap: you go to the gym thirteen times in your first month of membership, you get a free towel. I’ve actually been four times this week – GO ME! – but I forgot my membership card the first time, so it doesn’t count, apparently.) To be completely honest with you, as far as motivational "prizes" go, I don’t think a towel is a very good one. I mean, not to boast, but I actually already have a towel. And, you know, if I really wanted another one… I could buy one. But hey, a towel is what they’re offering and I WILL GET THAT TOWEL. Just not today, because I’ve got too much work to do to go to the gym today.
Towels aside, the gym-going has been fine, even although the behaviour of The Others continues to amaze and perplex me. Take yesterday’s visit, for instance. Yesterday, I went for a swim. I had only swam a couple of lengths when I noticed a man appear at the poolside. He was dressed like some kind of pro-swimmer: trunks, goggles, bathing cap – even earplugs and one of those nose plug things that divers wear. I was so sure he was going to get into the "Fast Lane", which was the one next to mine (I was in the "Slow Lane", natch) and plough up and down like a madman that I even moved over a bit, so that his froth wouldn’t reach me.
But no. My friend with the nose plug got into the super-wide lane (The "Extra Slow Lane") instead, and spent 40 minutes doing nothing more taxing than floating up and down the pool on his back, occasionally making little fluttering movements with his hands to prevent himself from coming to a complete stop. WHY? I mean, fair enough if that’s what he wanted to do: I’m partial to a bit of floatin’ myself, and maybe the dude had an injury or something, but WHY THE PRO-SWIMMER CLOTHES? It was almost all I could do not to nudge him and ask him why the hell he was dressed like that to float on his back. I mean, it was like the aquatic equivalent of me wearing crampons and hiring a sherpa just to walk the dog around the block. WHY? I was doing something like three lengths to his one, and given that I swim so slowly that it sometimes makes time stop and start going backwards, that’s saying something.
Also: the sun loungers that are around the pool. What are they there for? The pool is an indoor one: there is no sun. And yet, three out of the four times I’ve been there, two young men (not the same ones each time, but always young men) have emerged from the changing rooms, laid themselves down on these sun loungers and then stayed there for quite some time. Again: WHY? Why would you come to the gym just to lie on a sun lounger in a room where there is no sun, and it’s not even that warm? If they just want to relax and chat, there’s a spa pool, a sauna, a steam room and a restaurant. Why the no-sun sun loungers? Maybe it’s important to them to relax and chat IN THEIR SWIM SHORTS? Maybe those loungers are the only places it’s acceptable for young men to do that. Who knows?
Still, at least The Whistler hasn’t been back. Yet.
Oh, and for the benefit of those of you who are only here to find out how the whole Total Assholes Management thing worked out, I’ll tell you… after this from our sponsors!
Nah, I’m just kidding. They called twice yesterday, and although they hung up on Terry the first time, the second caller seemed slightly more sensible than the first, and I managed to keep him talking for a few minutes. It went like this:
T.A.M: Hello! I am Mike and I am calling you from…
ME: [in unison with him]: Total Asset Management! You want to send me an information pack! And when I tell you I don’t want it and that you called me seven times yesterday, you’ll put the phone down on me, won’t you?
T.A.M: Oh. Okay then, I will.
Me: That’s not an instruction, by the way.
T.A.M. Yes, I am understanding your instruction. I am putting down with the phone…
Me: No you’re freaking not….
And thus it went on, with him protesting his innocence ("This is being the first call I have been making today, it could not have been me, Mike, who is calling you…") and me explaining, at length, how we now considered the behavior of Total Assholes Management to be harassment, and that we would report it as such it they ever called us again. Weirdly, he agreed to give me the company’s address and a phone number (he says it’s a phone number, anyway. Doesn’t look like one to me, but they are based in India). Even more weirdly, we haven’t heard from them since. Amber – 1, Total Assholes Management – 0. So the week hasn’t been totally wasted.
I went to the gym. In fact, I went twice – GO ME! The first time I went, I forgot my membership card. The second time, I forgot the pound coin you need for the locker, so spent the entire visit worrying that when I emerged from the pool, all my stuff would have been stolen and I’d have to go home in a wet bathing suit. As it happened, I only had to worry for about twenty minutes, though, because that’s how long I was in the pool. And the reason for that? It was The Whistler.
There’s a Whistler in almost every crowd, I find. You probably know one yourself. He (for it is almost always a he) is the person who finds it impossible to exist without emitting a loud, tuneless, shrill PEEP! every few seconds, regardless of how appropriate it may be to make that noise. And as far as I’m concerned? It is NEVER appropriate to make that noise. Never.
I can’t stand whistling. I know you’re all probably sitting there going, "Ah, but it’s so CHEERFUL!" It is not cheerful. It’s freaking annoying, is what it is, and no one will ever tell me different. I think it’s the shrillness of the noise that bothers me the most. That high pitched, totally tuneless PEEP! hurts my head in just the same way as nails scraping down a blackboard, say. Or someone rubbing their hands against a balloon. (WHY DO PEOPLE DO THAT?) And just when you think the torture is over, it comes again: PEEP! Gah.
The peeping started almost as soon as I got into the pool for my swim. This, in itself, had been something of a trial, because the swimming pool, it was PACKED. Where do all the people come from? We deliberately got a membership that only allows us to use the gym during the day (it’s cheaper) thinking it would almost certainly be quieter then, because most people would be at work. What we had forgotten, of course, was that most people don’t actually seem to work these days (How do they afford the membership? Surely they can’t ALL be self-employed, like us?). And that everywhere we go, we always take The Others with us.
Yes, The Others were out in force at the pool. There was one Other in each lane, so I selected the widest lane there and got in, being careful to try and stay at the opposite end from The Other, so that when he turned, I turned at the other end, and we passed each other in the middle. Within seconds, though, three more Others had appeared and – get this – EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM GOT INTO MY LANE. Why? Why do people do this? Sure, it was the widest lane, but now there were five of us in it. We were like some kind of half-assed synchronised swimming team, while the people in the OTHER lanes swam alone, in glorious seclusion, each with an entire lane at their disposal.
I ask again: WHY DO PEOPLE DO THIS? I mean, what on earth would compel you, upon entering a swimming pool, to insert yourself into a lane that already had four other people in it, as opposed to a lane that only had one other person in it? And yes, my lane was considerably wider, but it was so overpopulated by this point that it was also considerably more cramped. And all the while, the dreaded PEEP! echoed around the room every few seconds.
I swam for as long as I could tolerate it, all of us moving as one giant mass, but finally I could take no more, so I got out of the pool and headed into the jacuzzi. As I slid into the warm water I looked back at the lane I had just vacated and saw that every single other person who had been in it was following me out. GOD. "If I jumped in the fire, would y’all jump too?" I asked bitterly. In my own head, natch.
I crossed my fingers and prayed that they wouldn’t all be following me into the jacuzzi. My prayers were answered. Well, sort of. My fellow swim-team members didn’t follow me into the jacuzzi, which, to my great joy, only contained one other person. Unfortunately, that person? Was The Whistler.
I sank down into the bubbles, anticipating a long, leisurely soak, alternating with short swims, until such a time as Terry finished doing MAN THINGS in the gym and was ready to leave.
PEEP!
I opened my eyes. Across the pool, The Whistler smiled at me benignly. I closed my eyes again.
PEEP!
I frowned.
PEEP! PEEP!
I opened them. It was hard to catch The Whistler in the act, but there was no doubt that it was him. Every time I started to relax and enjoy myself, he would start up his tuneless, high-pitched peeping. And like nails down a blackboard, it very quickly drove me to the point of insanity. I sat it out until the jacuzzi finished its cycle and the bubbles died down. As I stood up to leave, though, The Whistler stood up too. YES! I could yet wrest some relaxation from this experience, I thought, preparing to sink back down again.
The Whistler walked to the button that operates the jacuzzi and pressed it. The bubbles started up again. So did The Whistler.
PEEP! he said as he sat back down.
"Screw this!" I said, as I got out of the pool and flounced into the changing rooms, the effect ruined only slightly by the factthat I had to come back for my towel. PEEP! said The Whistler as I picked it up. It was like Chinese Water Torture. I’m actually amazed that I survived to tell the tale.
Back in the changing room, I checked to make sure my clothes hadn’t been stolen, got dressed, then spent a few happy minutes playing with the GHD hair straighteners before retiring to the lounge to read Cosmo and wait for Terry. I only have to go through this another 12 times this month and I get a free towel. Free! Towel! WHY?!
I liked the hair straighteners, though.
So, I had this entry all planned out, about how Terry and I have joined a health club, and how we’re probably never going to go to the health club even although we’ve spent loads of money on it, and seriously dudes, it was going to be the BEST blog post EVER. I mean, it was going to have illustrations and everything.
Anyway, I had it all in my head, and I just had to type it out, but then, WHAM! I got another migraine. And then all hell broke loose.
See, I know I’ve mentioned here before that I’m a hypochondriac, but I’m guessing you all probably thought I was joking, or at least exaggerating. I’m not, though. Actually, I am the world’s biggest hypochondriac (I WIN AT HYPOCHONDRIA! GO ME!) which is why I spent part of this afternoon at the doctor’s surgery. I explained to the doctor that I have a brain tumour and am dying, and he explained that actually, no I’m not, I’m just mad. Well, I mean, he actually said "stressed", but it all comes down to the same thing. So, I think I’m going to use my shiny new gym membership after all. I think I’m going to use it for nice, relaxing things, like the sauna and jacuzzi, maybe the pool if I feel like breaking a bit of a sweat. Not for the actual gym, you know, because screw that.
See, I hate the gym. Actually, I hate all forms of exercise. All of them. Well, I like horse riding, of course, but ain’t too many horses at my disposal, so that’s out. But the gym and I have history. Way back in the mists of time, when I was but a lowly newspaper reporter, I decided to join a gym. I was working two jobs at the time, which meant that I had more money than sense, but also: more money than time. Needless to say, the gym membership didn’t get used too often, and when it did get used, I hated it.
The problem was that the gym I chose was attached to a golf club. All the fond parents would basically drop their kids off at the pool while they either hit the course or propped up the bar, which meant that it was more or less like a creche all the damn time. I cancelled my membership the day a little boy dive-bombed into the pool and landed ON MY BACK as I tried to swim lengths. The fact that I’d just had to stop his sister from kicking down the door of my changing room only strengthened my decision. So I left, and didn’t look back. I had learned my lesson, I thought, but clearly I hadn’t, because a few months later? I joined another gym.
This time I was doubly stupid, and got a joint membership for Terry and I, who were both still living with our parents at the time. We’d go to the gym and Terry would do MAN things like lifting weights, while I walked on the treadmill for a few minutes and then retired to the jacuzzi. Ah, many were the happy times we spent in that jacuzzi after a tough work out at the gym, and by "many" I mean "two were the times we spent in that jacuzzi". Yeah.
Well, time passed and Terry and I decided to buy a house. So that the house didn’t have to be made of cardboard, we decided we had to lose the gym subscription, to save some money. The fact that we hadn’t used it for… let’s just say a long time…. helped here. Then more time passed. Terry got his transplant and became a health freak, climbing mountains, playing tennis and generally being all wholesome and outdoorsy. I went running once, fell off my bike and then gave up exercise for good. Or at least, until yesterday, when Terry popped out to pick up his prescription and came home with two gym memberships. To the gym we used to go to a few years ago.
I can already see how this will end. In fact, as soon as I finish writing this entry, I’m going to go and write my "I haven’t been to the gym for three months now" entry and my "I quit the gym" entry. Well, it’s good to be prepared, you know? In the meantime, though, I’m thinking pool, jacuzzi (laser beam uzi), maybe some nice, gentle yoga… I mean, I can do that, right? And at the very least, I’m sure I’ll get some blog posts out of it…
So, a few weeks ago I decided to subscribe to the Amazon DVD rental program thingy. I guess I thought it would be a good idea to hire a new workout DVD every week, and that way I’d never get bored, and I’d be all skinny and toned and stuff.
I guess I also thought my whole personality would change sometime in between joining this programme and receiving the first DVD because once they started to flood in it became clear to me that I am the laziest person that ever did live, and that I may as well just take my £4.99 and throw it into the wind.
It’s just not happening for me. The presence of these fitness DVDs in their spiffy little orange jackets doesn’t suddenly make me want to leap out of bed in the morning and into my running shoes, and nor do they create an extra hour in the day, in which exercising for the sake of it becomes viable, and, indeed attractive.
In fact, they just sit there, all neglected, until it’s time for them to go home, and I sit there all lardass and cellulite-laden, and feel vaguely guilty that I didn’t make them more welcome while they were guests in my home. The funny thing about this, though? Since I got joined the program, I’ve lost weight. For real.
This is strange because for the past two years I have tried everything within my feeble power to lose the work-from-home induced weight I’ve been carrying around with me. Nothing has worked. I’ve tried rollerblading. I’ve tried kickboxing. I’ve tried running, walking, cycling. I’ve tried beating the crap out of the inflatable punch bag that lives in the spare room. Nothing. Has. Worked. This week, though? This week I decided that I had two choices:
1. Bust my ass working out every day and be <insert weight that is more than I’d like it to be>
OR
2. Sit on said ass, doing sweet FA in the way of exercise every day, and STILL be <insert weight that is more than I’d like it to be>
Needless to say, I chose option 2. And I have lost weight. Now, before y’all say anything, no, it’s not just loss of muscle tone caused by stopping exercising. Because I kinda stopped exercising a while ago, and nothing happened. I figure I either grew a tape worm or all the salads I’ve been eating finally paid off. (But I think it’s the tapeworm.)
Either that, or the Amazon DVD thing makes you lose weight just by joining. I swear they did not pay me to say that. (Although, Amazon? If you want to pay me, you have my bank details…)
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