The gym and the gifs

I joined a gym yesterday. It wasn’t an impulsive decision – my friend had mentioned its proximity and decent prices when we first moved here, and all last week I’d studied a flier that arrived in our letterbox and chewed over the idea of signing up. I hadn’t really decided to sign up yesterday, though, I was just popping in to check out the classes they ran, but it turned out they were offering an even better deal than the one advertised on the flier, and even though the dude behind the counter had his accents mixed up and called it a ‘creché’ instead of a ‘crèche’, he won me over with the promise of an extra month for free. I left with a membership card in my hand and this line from Anchorman in my head:

I’m quite uncoordinated, not just in a “tee hee oops!” way but in a “when I was much younger I used to have to do coordination exercises because I tried ballet and it did not go well” way. I’m okay with doing leg moves, and I’m okay with doing arm moves, but when asked to join the leg things and the arm things together, my brain flips out; I move left while kicking when I should be punching my arms and moving right, and if there’s ever a little skip step added in to a routine I simply sit down and sob. I always do exercise DVDs with the curtains closed for this reason, and because I want him to want to have sex with me in future, Alan is banned from the room while the workout is on.

And now I’ve paid a fair chunk of money for the privilege of unleashing me-while-exercising on the public, and have instructed Alan to guilt me into going back if ever I give up. I went to my first class this afternoon and hid behind a pole, and I was overjoyed to find that I was not the most uncoordinated person in the room. I was less overjoyed to find that the actual exercise would be the challenge – the vaguely named ‘Body Pump’ turned out to be hell with a barbell (name change?) which rendered me incapable of using my limbs properly. My legs were so wobbly I nearly fell over on my way out of the gym, although I’d just laughed with the dude who signed me up yesterday about not being able to walk home so I hope he thought that was an act (Alan was waiting for me outside and when he heard how I was feeling, asked, “So falling out of the gym wasn’t a joke?” No. No it wasn’t. I feel like I have jelly for legs and I want to die).

I’m currently typing this with my nose and tongue because I can’t lift my arms anymore, and I every time I stand up and move I say, ”Aaaaaoooww ow owow.”

via GIPHY