Thursday 14 July 2005

gonna make me sweat

I had my gym induction (I really hate that word now) this morning, and I was pleasantly surprised. Normally I dread this; they do sadistic things to the unfit like make them stand on scales and pinch their back fat with plastic salad tongs. Post-pregnant women do not need to a) know their current weight or b) have their floppy after-baby belly measured. I know that I'm fat - I don't need it confirmed by a stranger. A very nice lady (who is keen on cycling and has a Lance Armstrong yellow wristband - it could have been Big Jack in drag, but a lot less hairy) went through everything with me, sensibly and sympathetically. They have a superduper high tech system that involves a plastic key (perhaps this bit isn't terribly high tech). A routine is programmed in for you during your induction and loaded on to your key. When you go to use a machine, it greets you in flashy Vegas scrolling marquee letters and the options are automatically set for you. So, all I need to do is hop on the treadmill, stick in my key, and plod merrily along. At the end, you stick your key in a computer and you can review your workout and your overall progress. If you use the bike, for example, it charts how far along you would have made it through the Tour de France. Me like.

Sadly, not only have I lost any ability to exercise for more than 30 minutes, I am as weak as a kitten with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. I accept that my first workout after a long time tends to be filled with lots of huffing and puffing, but there were some things I simply didn't have the strength to do. One sweaty, out of breath step at a time, eh.

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