“I am going to die” is a phrase that has quickly become my catchphrase when exerting any small amount of physical activity. That would be fine if I was doing extreme sports or wrestling crocodiles and sharks, but instead is startlingly worrying when it’s uttered when merely walking up a few stairs. At 27 I should be in my prime. Lionel Messi, Andy Murray, Novak Djokovic, Jon Jones, Zac Efron, Dappy. They were all born in 1987. What went wrong? Where’s my fucking Adonis body? I looked at some of the females my age (for perhaps a bit too long), women who would have been in my year at school. I COULD HAVE ASKED THEM OUT FOR A NANDOS! (Nandos was also born in 1987). Blake Lively, Maria Sharapova, Karen Gillan, Daenerys Targaryen. I've got no fucking chance now.
|This could be me but I'm playing|
BUT HARK! The reverberations of New Year resolutions beckon me! Sort of. I didn’t want to be one of those pathetic humans joining the January pilgrimage to a gym straight after New Year’s Eve - a night in which you reach the lowest ebbs of morality - so instead this pathetic human joined a gym at the very end of January. I’ve always been more Depeche Mode than Beast Mode, but I was adamant on making a change. This of course was met with mostly negative reactions (and laughs): “Yeah, but are you actually going to go?”, “What’s the point?” “Stop talking to me”, “I hate you”, “You’re not allowed within a hundred feet of me”. This was the first challenge. As a famous philosopher once said, “the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate”. This was my motivation, “I am going to die” would no longer be my catchphrase, the new and improved me would proudly proclaim: “I am going to LIVE!”
|"Yes! Nandos with David!"|
“I am going to die!” is the first thing I said as my heart rate rocketed over 160bpm four seconds after sitting on an exercise bike. Lacking the eloquence of Jane Austen, I can only write that I was a sweaty fucking mess. As I stumbled and trembled away I set my sights on the weight area. Or as it should be known: CUNT CITY. As I walked past one man dancing around a punch bag only pretending to punch it and calling it names, all I could see were several Banes. Actually that’s a lie. What I saw was an equal mix of top heavy vest clad brutes, looking like muscular chickens, and what looked like a waiting room for a One Direction tribute band audition.
The weight area in a gym can be intimidating, until you realise two things, that everyone has to start at square one, and also that everyone looks like an idiot. You cannot be embarrassed in a gym because no matter how stupid you may feel you look, the person next to you looks even more ridiculous. One thing that has kept me coming back to the gym on a regular basis is the opportunity to judge people. If actually improving your body doesn’t make you feel better about yourself then just looking around you will. All this judging got me thinking. I see a lot of people in the gym not actually working out. Am I doing it wrong? From my observations I have come up with the perfect fitness plan.
1. Wear ridiculous skinny joggers/meggings. For those more experienced, how about that stupid shorts and tights combo.
2. Spend half your wage on a pair of trainers. The University of Loughborough recently discovered that the more neon they are, the further you’ll be able to run!
3. Have a moronic hairstyle. Man buns, alice bands, and high quiffs are all scientifically proven to reduce brain cells, meaning there is more oxygen for your muscles.
4. Answer every question with “nah” even if you mean yes.
5. Call everyone bro. Especially your sister.
Once you have completed steps 1-5, take a 30 second rest, and go to the gym.
6. Walk up and down the gym. 10 reps, 20 sets.
7. Stand in front of a mirror with your feet apart. Run your hand through your hair. Repeat with opposite hand. 10 reps. 40 sets.
8. Again in front of a mirror with your feet apart, look down at the floor, and slowly lift your head and pout into the mirror. Hold position for three minutes and then rest.
9. Spot a mildly attractive girl on a treadmill and start running on the one next to her, ensuring you are going at the very least the same speed as her. Run for two minutes before you realise she is much fitter than you and give up, then acknowledge you’re a cunt.
10. Go to McDonalds. Initiate Beast Mode.