I went to the gym this morning.
Not such a revelation, as it’s Monday here, one of my allocated days to do a half-arsed attempt at a workout. Today, it’s hot, news and media reporting that the temperature didn’t drop below 28°C overnight. It was a very uncomfortable night, still and sultry; I think I got about two hours’ sleep. I am tired, hot and peeved. But I make myself go anyway because a) it’s an hour away from my children who are STILL on holidays (onemoredayonemoredayonemoreday), and b) I always feel alive, fluid, and nimble after the gym.
I walk inside. The aircon is not working. Fuuuuuuuucck. How is one supposed to faff about on gym equipment when it’s hot?? Do I leave, or do I have a go? I have a go, folks! My half-arsed gym sesh quickly turns into a quarter-arsed gym sesh, but hey I do something. I drop a lot from my program, only 10 minutes into the x-trainer, I hop off. I skip other weight bits. But the one I don’t skip is called the mountain climber. My feet are in stirrups, my hands on the floor, as if in push-up mode, and I ‘step’ my knees into my midriff. I actually love it. I never, without a breath of false modesty, thought I’d be able to do this exercise. I’d seen other, fit-lithe-trim people do this, and I’d gaze at them in astonishment, imagining if I were to try it, I’d faceplant straight to the floor. But I digress.
Today, I have to wait before I can perform my mountain climber exercise. Why, I hear you ask? Because there is a fit and extremely good-looking young man using the TRX machine to do his chin-ups. I thought he’d finished, so I approach the TRX to ready the stirrups for my feet, and he appears, a dark foreboding shadow, right next to me.
‘Oh, are you still using this?’ I ask, looking pointedly at the other side of the TRX, its mirror image, where he can easily do his chin-ups. I cannot use the other side, because the stirrups are locked into place. I am sweaty, but smile, in an effort to engage.
He avoids eye contact with me, mumbles something in reply. He cannot be bothered forming actual words. All he sees is a chubby, middle-aged woman attempting to cut in on his workout. He almost nudges me out of the space, and takes his time to complete two more sets of chin-ups. He has no inkling of the depths to his own sense of entitlement.