I made a foolish schoolboy error in the gym today. I was on the treadmill doing the Hill programme – basically it alters the incline you’re running on in intervals, but steadily increases it as you go e.g. 1 min at 3% (baseline), 1 min at 5%, back to a min at 3%, 1 min at 6.5% and so on. It’s a cracking workout, really gets the calves going, and I had it set to do half an hour on level 14 (tough!) at 10kph. However I was getting into it a bit too much and, about 15 minutes in, swung one of my arms straight into the Stop button. This halts all exercise and finishes the programme, no last-minute restarts allowed. Seeing as you can’t start halfway through, this meant I had to go back to the beginning and start again. Ouch. Sweaty is not the word…
After that it was on to weights but, joy of joys, all of the little proto-neds in the area (pain in the ass teenagers to you non-Scots) had decided to cram into the gym and take up every last bit of machinery. Now I have no problem at all waiting my turn when I can see it’s someone serious who’s using the equipment – hell, I’m a relative beginner so I can usually learn something by watching them. It’s a different situation altogether when it’s some scrawny, uncouth embarrassment to our species just fucking around and showing off, or just sitting on the weights benches so he can chat to his similarly fuckwitted mates. I pay £43 a month to use that place and as such I don’t expect to have to stand around twiddling my thumbs while these wretched guttersnipes ‘converse’ in whatever ‘language’ it is they’re using.
Well I don’t have to take it, I’m going to start a petition to construct a state of the art adults-only gym somewhere in Edinburgh, a place where proper serious types can do proper serious exercise in a proper serious atmosphere. No pesky kids – it’s not a fucking playgroup. None of tthese part-timers who come in once a week to walk at a snail’s pace on the treadmill and natter to their mates for half an hour then leave – it’s not a fucking social club. And none of the pensioners who, let’s face it, just get in the way and give you dirty looks when you get too close to them as if you’ve invaded their own private gym – it’s not a fucking mortuary. Just a fucking gym for people who want to use the fucking gym.
Is it too much to ask?
(Just read back over that. Jesus, I must be getting old…)