Thursday, 11 April 2013

I Hate The Gym.

Once upon a time there was a chubby girl…

Ok so realistically, I once had the metabolism of a frozen sloth, so fat I couldn’t even jump to a conclusion and I honestly thought the “Hang, Clean and Press” exercises, were simply laundry instructions.

There was one machine I knew of at the gym which I thought was just fucking amazing. Every household in fact should have it. Although after an hour on it I really felt quite ill, but it had everything! Kitkats… Mars Bars… Chips… Cheaper than the gym membership too.

These days however, I’m a pretty tiny little thing, rarely pushing past 50kg unless I have a sudden Thins Light ‘n‘ Tangy craving and they‘re on sale at Coles alongside really cheap old Eddie Murphy DVDs… You know, back when Eddie Murphy movies were funny. I did lose a lot of weight just after high school. I figured “Hey.. I’m kind of chubby… I don’t really want to be chubby anymore”. It really was that simple for me.

But still, I’ve actually never set foot in a gym before in my life. People heard this and were all “OH MY GOD WHAT’S YOUR SECRET?!!”

Oh I don’t know. Maybe put down the fork, remove your ass from the couch and pick up a book that teaches you how to use the words ‘carb loading’, ‘insulin spike’ and ‘donuts’ in the same sentence? Learning how to calculate the total fat, protein, carb and sodium amounts in a packet of mi goreng doesn’t hurt either. (Yes I have done this, no I am not proud of it.)

That’s what I did and I lost around 19kg in about 3 ½ months. I would come home from work, put on some kind of TV show marathon or a movie and sweat my soon to be sexy little ass off, in front of the Simpsons.

I just despise (and always have) any exercise that isn’t thumb curls due to excessive Playstation addiction or any type of sex based cardio. I’m lazy. Really, REALLY lazy. I find zero enjoyment from exercise. None of this endorphin rush that people who are gym obsessed tell me about.

And I AM a chef, which mean I have two diets to choose from.

Introducing: The Skinny Chef. This chef’s daily calorie intake averages around 312. The type of person who stresses themselves to a mere bony frame and whose breakfast consists solely of black coffee and cigarettes. Then there’s your stereotypical Fat Chef. The butter eating, bacon loving, probably goes home and washes his armpits in golden syrup type of chef.

I chose to combine the two to result in a diet that is 97% green vegetables and bacon cooked in a heart stopping amount of butter, washed down with black coffee and diet coke.

But to get to my point, I have a gym loving boyfriend. I am quite fit, I am quite strong and I have a reasonably well defined set of abdominals. But I also have a new housemate who I don’t think would appreciate coming home to find me in a sports bra in the living room doing a “Hack Squat” which is apparently supposed to be a leg exercise but looks more like the position a cat makes when it’s trying to cough up a hairball.

So I thought I’d take a leaf out of the boyfriend’s book and I went to the gym. Once. That was enough. I have come to the conclusion that - I Hate The Gym.

It’s not even for the exercise aspects. It’s the people at the gym. For example:

1. The Overly Complicated Workout Guy: You know the guy that does a hand stand on top of a medicine ball that is situated on the treadmill, with a kettle bell attached to his ankle and a hula hoop around his waist who most likely will complete this set by smashing down a carefully formulated protein shake that he has experimented with at home to find one that doesn’t make him gag? Yeah I hate that guy. Watching these guys MAKES me gag.

2. Excessive Nudity Girl: This girl probably has a baben body and she likes to show it off. Fucking do it at the beach or at a bikini competition. Not by wiggling your perfectly formed tits in front of my face whilst I’m trying to get changed. The locker room should be like the men’s urinals. You look up and down and never side to side. It’s the same scenario you get put in as a First Year Apprentice when you get shoved into a corner and you’re given 15kg of mushrooms to perfectly slice. I feel like I’m sitting Year 12 exams again. KEEP YOUR EYES ON YOUR OWN TITS! I’m having enough issues with all the mirrors in this place. Why do they do that anyway? Why must every fucking machine have a mirror in front of it? Cunt, I know what I look like that’s why I’m here. I dislike this girl because she is most likely the same girl that pissed me off in the gym only an hour beforehand by impersonating the Sharapova Grunts.

3. The Guy Who Doesn’t Clean Up His Sweat: This is pretty self explanatory. If you’re sweating like a ballerina’s crotch and transforming your surrounding area into a kid’s play pool, here, take this towel and use it for a good purpose other than to flick your nearest “totally not gay” gym mate. There are many more fun ways I can think of to catch some form of contagious disease and none of them consist of rubbing up against the by product of your evolutionary dog-like sweat glands.

4. The Sports Psychiatrist: The person that thinks they know everything about why you’re at the gym. Look, I don’t know if you’re trying to be helpful or if you just want to be a fucking prick, but let me tell you this. I am NOT here for self improvement, I am NOT here to gain ‘inner strength’ or find my identity or learn to trust and believe in myself or any other philosophical explanation you seem to be able to pull from your ass. I am simply here before I have a love affair going on with pork belly whilst simultaneously wanting to look good naked, full light, ‘on top’. Got it fuckwad?

And finally;

5: The Show-Off: In my ONE gym session I had a rather nasty encounter with one of these guys. The guy who would flirt with me in between machines, then stand in front of my treadmill doing what I refer to as “The Superman”. The stretch where the man puts his hands on his hips and thrusts his waist forward so that his genitals are unnecessarily three inches closer to my face than they should be. This is the type of guy who walks around flexing and spends more time getting other people to watch him, than actually exercising. I don’t like these people, I’m at the gym to get my shit done. Get in, get out, like a quick root and I have NO time for people like this. So this guy after I got off the treadmill comes over to me and as I’m wiping the sweat off my neck (See Number 3, because I’m a considerate cunt), says:

“Hey baby, I can bench 150kg, what can your sexy self do?”


BAM!!! I have to say I’m rather proud of that response.

So I guess I will have to find an alternative solution. I refuse to allow my hatred of gyms and exercise and my love of all things fattening to stop me from fitting into my Size 6 Sass&Bide jeans that I splurged half a pay-check on.

When I have a shower, I want my feet to actually get wet.

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