Tuesday, April 26, 2005

See you tomorrow! (If I survive)

So my roommate and I joined a gym on Sunday. We showed up, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, and were promptly pounced on, weighed, measured, and baldly told just what percentage of fat our bodies contained. All this at the reception desk, upon registration.
Thereafter, we sailed into the actual sanctum sanctorum, a little bruised by our initiation downstairs, but still buoyant. And that was where we met the Instructor. There is no other way to refer to him except in capitals. With the proper respect. This man holds infinite power in his hands, and I don’t just mean muscles. He hands me a pair of dumbbells. I nearly drop them. In an attempt at self-defense, I mewl that they are too heavy; he sternly tells me that they are the lightest ones in the entire building.
It continues in the same vein for about two hours. In real time, it couldn’t have been more than 25 minutes. At one point, I sneakily sit down on a stepper, since I can’t spot the Instructor anywhere. Out of nowhere, he cruises up and coldly tells me to quit resting and get off the stepper. I gulp and lift my aching self, lamely pretending to do more stretches.
I soon make a startling discovery: there are actually two of them! Good grief! Both of them resemble each other: lean and muscled, with merciless eyes. Maybe they are brothers?
But occasionally, they do smile. I am grateful that they choose to smile, and not laugh out loud. At several points in the workout, I want to inform the Instructor (I’m not sure which one) that I am very close to death and would he please take care of the funeral arrangements, my only request being for yellow tulips at my memorial service.
But what do you know? My roommate and I have lived to tell the tale. Despite sounding and feeling like creaky ghost-ships the morning after, we are glowing with the thrill of accomplishment and rosy dreams of svelte, fit bodies. We laugh at each other’s groans at every movement, and then double up because laughing hurts our stomach muscles.
But what the hell? We shall overcome. I will report back on our transformation into two shapely swans who can do 15, nay, 30 minutes of treadmill pounding with graceful ease. This may take a while. :-)

1 comment:

Rohit said...

Am impressed....

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