Friday, December 10th, 2010
Since Jack Frost is nipping at my nose and this snowfall has threatened to put my Paris Half Mara training in a death grip, I managed to bag myself guest passes for a couple of days at a swanky gym. I just wanted to keep up with my training plan, but it ended in a robbery. A robbery I tell ya! Call Columbo.
There I was at 6am, running for dear life and going nowhere (i.e. on the treadmill) when my iPod died. Frustrated at the fact that I had to complete my remaining two miles musicless, I took the iPod off and threw it, toddler tantrum-stylee, onto the side of the treadmill (read: placed it there carefully, but while making a really really angry face). You already know where this is going. When I finished my run, I bounded off the ‘mill feeling all triumphant, did my stretches and left, leaving my poor, crappy iPod behind.
Realising my error later in the day, I called the gym only for them to tell me no one had handed it in. I was going again the following morning, by which time I was convinced, the iPod thief would’ve grown a conscience. But alas, the next day, still no iPod.
My crappy, big, beat up, five year old iPod was gone forever *moment of silence*. Someone had, however, handed in a brand spanking new, flashy iPod Nano. Taking my old piece of crap and leaving a much better, newer model? Hardly constitutes intelligent thievery. We’re dealing with an amateur here.
I can only put it down to my excellent taste in music. I distinctly remember ‘Dopeboy’ by Adam Tensta being the next track lined up to play right before it died. Obviously the thief has a penchant for Swedish electro hip hop.
I hope they enjoy my fantastic playlists. May they groove to Barry White and cheesy 90s R’n'B. May they marvel at how a shuffle on my iPod takes you on a musical journey from Wu Tang to Phil Collins. Enjoy it, my thieving amigo *wipes tear* That iPod and I have enjoyed many great times. It’s been all around the world with me. It’s a shame our journey together had to end in a posh gym in Leeds. A posh gym – suggesting the people who frequent it have money. I was rockin’ a guest pass. Just sayin’.
Anyhoo, the upside of this tale is this: I had a little moan about the iPod thief on Twitter and within minutes, someone said she had an iPod Nano she no longer used and would be happy to send it to me. Two more of my followers sent me similar messages. And just like that, my faith in humanity was restored. Take THAT iPod thief.
Tags: gyms, ipod, Paris Half Marathon, running, thieves, training
Posted in life | 8 Comments »
Monday, February 1st, 2010
Despite the overall tone of this blog, believe it or not, I’m a lover, not a fighter. It was for fitness reasons, rather than any anger management issues I may have, that I decided to try boxing. But I didn’t want any namby pamby ladies kick boxing nonsense. No, no. I wanted the real deal.
This is not a Fitness One or Virgin gym with plush equipment and beautiful people. It’s a down and dirty gym filled with a bunch of dudes who’ve clearly had a few broken noses in their time. The first thing that hits you as you walk in is the stench of man. And it ain’t exactly how you imagine Tom Ford would smell, if you know what I’m saying. It’s a proper, full on sweaty blokes boxing gym.
The room filled up quickly with about 20 guys, six girls and one androgynous looking individual. I was immediately thrown into a jogging, star jumps, sit ups, push ups pit of hell that had me breathing like I was having an asthma attack (and I don’t even have asthma). We were then instructed to just ‘spar’ and everyone around me started violently punching the air. I slowly, nervously pushed my clenched fist out in front of me, rather lamely, not really knowing what I was doing. The blokes all grunted and breathed hard with every punch they threw. My punches were very dainty.
Then we were back on the floor doing more push ups and sit ups than should ever be necessary. Up again, more star jumps, more jogging. God would it ever end, I thought to myself. I looked at the clock and only ten minutes had passed. There was no way I would make it through this session.
We grabbed gloves, pads and partnered up. The instructor demonstrated the combination of punches we’d be doing and we were off. I was partnered with a gorgeous girl who was clearly at her peak in physical fitness. Didn’t have an ounce of fat on her. A vein bulged from her shoulder, her biceps looked like rocks. I had to hold the pads while she rained down punches on them. I won’t lie, I said a prayer or two before she got started.
Then we switched around. I slipped my manicured hands in the gloves and started out sheepishly, lightly tapping the pads. My partner gave me some advice on technique. I punched again. ‘Go on girl,’ she said. ‘Give it some welly!’ And welly I gave it, my friends. I punched harder. ‘Go on, get angry!’ she said. And all of a sudden, those pads turned into the faces of all my ex boyfriends, people who wear Uggs and idiots who can’t pronounce my name correctly. I threw punches for every cab driver who’s ever overcharged me, every man who hasn’t held a door open for me and every girl who still insists on wearing leggings. Two minute round after two minute round, I threw punches wildly, til my knuckles hurt, my back ached and my legs nearly gave way. Apparently, I have a mean left hook.
When all was said and done and I stood drenched in sweat, I felt fan-freakin’-tastic. I pride myself of being a lady, but every now and then, you’ve just gotta get primal with it. So, I’ll continue to throw my proverbial bitch slaps around on here, but I’ll save the real stuff for the sweaty blokes boxing gym.
Tags: boxing, gyms, working on my fitness being bangsalicious
Posted in life | 9 Comments »
Thursday, May 7th, 2009
Tags: embarrassing moments, gyms, ridiculously good looking people, working out
Posted in life | 3 Comments »