Have a little confession to make, peeps - I carried out a scientific experiment to determine a correlation between farting, earphones and exercise bikes, and let me tell you, there most definitely is one. Earphones and exercise bikes combine quite nicely to produce farts without the guilt, shame or embarrassment. Well, it did in my case, anyway.
One day last week, I was working out and sweating profusely on the exercise bike. I should really point out to you all that when I first start out on the exercise bike, I have to go a bit slowly, because my stomach gets very bloated and it's quite difficult to get everything moving, and it's not just my legs and my motivation I'm talking about here.
For the first few kilometres, I keep it to effort level one, so I can warm up and ease myself into it gradually, as I believe you're supposed to. Anyway, this particular day, my stomach was extra specially bloated, so I could feel everything moving about and grinding and clunking about in my rather tiny (in my mind at least) stomach. As you know, the exercise bike is all about working your stomach muscles as well as your legs, and I could feel the trapped wind starting to move about, which made me feel quite pleased. After all, a marathon starts with the first step .....
I was aware of two gentlemen behind me on the bikes, who seemed to be quite chatty, so clearly they knew each other quite well, and I could tell they were keeping an eye on me whilst they were exercising, as you can't avoid looking to the front of this particular gym, because of the layout. Anyway, I put my headphones on, and was merrily bopping away to Fleetwood Mac, when all of a sudden, my wind moved faster than even I was expecting, and came out with a bit of a whoosh - made the seat go warm, if you know what I mean. Now then, I know I made a bit of a raspy noise, but with it being an electric bike and it being noisy in the gym anyway, what with the crappy music and all, I couldn't really hear it over my headphones as well, so I thought, oh well, must have got away with that one. I'll be ok so long as I don't do it again. Just carried on with my session and tried to put it behind me - literally. Well, all of a sudden, I became conscious of this ..... smell. A bit like a cat had crept on to the seat behind me, crapped, and crept away again. (I must assure you at this juncture, I had not deposited solids). My partner taught me a lovely phrase a few weeks ago - another term for a fart, apparently, is 'ghost sh*t', which is apt in this instance, for that's what I'd done, I'm ashamed and embarrassed to say. Being the game old bird that I am, I carried on biking, and noticed out of the corner of my eye, that the gentlemen who were previously working away behind me, had suddenly and unexpectedly left their posts. I like to think it was because they had achieved their targets for the day, but frankly, I'm not so sure.
The moral of this story is that if you can't hear it, it's ok. If you can hear it and know where it came from, good for you - you can't prove it was me. If you were the one that did it, heard it and knew exactly where it came from, look innocent, keep your head held high and don't let the buggers wear you down. Good luck, goodnight and good wishes.
Sunday 23 January 2011
Common Courtesy when going through doors, please
Went to the gym today, actually. Struggled a bit, because of having a headache and already feeling tired. Still, I'm a game old bird, spurred on by the fact that we bought a pair of bathroom scales yesterday and when I weighed myself I found I've actually put on weight since I joined the gym. I was gutted when I found out, and as such, being the trooper that I am, decided that more exercise is the answer. And perhaps, less junk food. Bugger.
When trying to gain access to the gym, you have to hand your card over to the receptionist before you can get through the gate entry system, so they can swipe it. Last Sunday when I tried this, I was kept waiting for 10 minutes because they were short-staffed, and the person that was on reception took it into her head to have a conversation with someone already there, so kept everyone who was trying to get into the gym, waiting at the turnstile. There was an old couple behind me who weren't happy with it either, but I digress...
Anyway, today there was a male staff on the reception, and he was flirting with one of the members, who had 3 kids, one of which was hanging on to Mummy and bawling her head off. Shut the little f****r up, thought I, not particularly charitably, and managed to catch his eye so he'd let me in, which duly transpired.
Just as I got to these horrific people, they all decided to barge me out of the way and head towards the changing rooms. Bo*****s, I thought - that's all I f*****g need. Anyway, on I gamely went, and got treated to getting the door of the changing room slammed in my face. I bashed it open, just about missing the eldest little b*****d, and said "Thanks for that", in a fairly audible tone, whereupon she looked around shiftily, glared at me, then visibly paled as I glared back and really burned it into her. Well, I'm afraid, ladies and gentlemen, what goes around comes around. If yummy mummies can't be bothered to teach their appalling brats some manners, then that's just going to have to be my job, isn't it? Mummy, on the other hand, opted not to have heard this exchange, and then we all went to the same bench to swap our outdoor shoes for trainers, and all that kind of thing. Mummy then proceeded to spread her and the kids stuff out all over the bench, so I waited until she turned her back, then I moved her stuff about and made some room for yours truly. When she turned round, she wasn't overly happy at what I'd done, but didn't make any comment, other than a grunt, which is pretty typical of the area in which I like to call 'home'.
When I got up to put my stuff in the locker, I turned round to find my towel had been not so carefully placed on the floor - nice, eh? Never mind - I can work out my frustrations in the gym! God - that arm bike has never seen so much action in all the time it's been in that gym - mind you, I'm knackered now, and I can't even have chocolate to console my aches and pains with!!!
When trying to gain access to the gym, you have to hand your card over to the receptionist before you can get through the gate entry system, so they can swipe it. Last Sunday when I tried this, I was kept waiting for 10 minutes because they were short-staffed, and the person that was on reception took it into her head to have a conversation with someone already there, so kept everyone who was trying to get into the gym, waiting at the turnstile. There was an old couple behind me who weren't happy with it either, but I digress...
Anyway, today there was a male staff on the reception, and he was flirting with one of the members, who had 3 kids, one of which was hanging on to Mummy and bawling her head off. Shut the little f****r up, thought I, not particularly charitably, and managed to catch his eye so he'd let me in, which duly transpired.
Just as I got to these horrific people, they all decided to barge me out of the way and head towards the changing rooms. Bo*****s, I thought - that's all I f*****g need. Anyway, on I gamely went, and got treated to getting the door of the changing room slammed in my face. I bashed it open, just about missing the eldest little b*****d, and said "Thanks for that", in a fairly audible tone, whereupon she looked around shiftily, glared at me, then visibly paled as I glared back and really burned it into her. Well, I'm afraid, ladies and gentlemen, what goes around comes around. If yummy mummies can't be bothered to teach their appalling brats some manners, then that's just going to have to be my job, isn't it? Mummy, on the other hand, opted not to have heard this exchange, and then we all went to the same bench to swap our outdoor shoes for trainers, and all that kind of thing. Mummy then proceeded to spread her and the kids stuff out all over the bench, so I waited until she turned her back, then I moved her stuff about and made some room for yours truly. When she turned round, she wasn't overly happy at what I'd done, but didn't make any comment, other than a grunt, which is pretty typical of the area in which I like to call 'home'.
When I got up to put my stuff in the locker, I turned round to find my towel had been not so carefully placed on the floor - nice, eh? Never mind - I can work out my frustrations in the gym! God - that arm bike has never seen so much action in all the time it's been in that gym - mind you, I'm knackered now, and I can't even have chocolate to console my aches and pains with!!!
Put it away, Madam - it's not as pretty as you think
Went to the gym during the week - honestly, the sights you see when you've just eaten. After I finished yet another amazing workout, I went back into the changing rooms, to be met by the sight of a half naked woman with the most awful breasts I have ever seen. It was really weird and I know I shouldn't look, but honestly, when they're virtually thrust at you, what the hell are you supposed to do? It's like trying not to look at an enormous infected spot on someone's nose when you're trying to hold a sensible conversation with them. They were conical, which is fine if you like that sort of thing, but sadly, they were also covered in moles - really dark ones. At first, I was hoping it was mud, or dirt of some kind, but they weren't.
The other odd thing about all this was that the woman was there with her mother, and her daughter, so we have a grandmother, mother and daughter. The mother (ie. the middle one) was standing in front of the other two with her baps hanging out, having a conversation in the middle of the changing rooms, with strangers walking by and trying not to look. Please can someone either tell me what to do in this situation, or else put together a petition to be placed in gyms nationwide, to remind people that they're in a public place, and while nudity in these situations is inevitable, you really don't have to broadcast it for longer than it needs to be. Please help!!!
Mind you, so saying that, a few weeks ago, again, I wandered back into the changing rooms to be confronted by a woman bending over, with a tiny tiny towel round her, and I saw what she had eaten for breakfast (if you catch my drift). Certain things are inappropriate at any time, I think, and that was one of them.
Look, I guess what I'm saying is, is that can we all try to be more conscious of the fact that we're in a shared public place, and little towels aren't gonna cover everything you think they do - at home it's different - who's gonna look? At the gym, however, it's a bit different. I never know whether to say anything or not, because I'm conscious of the fact that my comments may not be well-received (not that I'm gonna cheer, or give a score out of 10, you understand), but these days, you can be thought of as a pervert at the drop of a hat, so it's a fine line I have to tread (not that I am a pervert, you understand). I don't actively look, at ladies' bits, indeed, I try to avert my eyes at all times - I even scuttle off to the toilets to get changed, (such is my modesty in these situations), but it's just wall to wall well droopy swingers, and it's difficult to know where is the best place to look (careful - didn't mean it quite like that!). Any advice greatly welcomed.
The other odd thing about all this was that the woman was there with her mother, and her daughter, so we have a grandmother, mother and daughter. The mother (ie. the middle one) was standing in front of the other two with her baps hanging out, having a conversation in the middle of the changing rooms, with strangers walking by and trying not to look. Please can someone either tell me what to do in this situation, or else put together a petition to be placed in gyms nationwide, to remind people that they're in a public place, and while nudity in these situations is inevitable, you really don't have to broadcast it for longer than it needs to be. Please help!!!
Mind you, so saying that, a few weeks ago, again, I wandered back into the changing rooms to be confronted by a woman bending over, with a tiny tiny towel round her, and I saw what she had eaten for breakfast (if you catch my drift). Certain things are inappropriate at any time, I think, and that was one of them.
Look, I guess what I'm saying is, is that can we all try to be more conscious of the fact that we're in a shared public place, and little towels aren't gonna cover everything you think they do - at home it's different - who's gonna look? At the gym, however, it's a bit different. I never know whether to say anything or not, because I'm conscious of the fact that my comments may not be well-received (not that I'm gonna cheer, or give a score out of 10, you understand), but these days, you can be thought of as a pervert at the drop of a hat, so it's a fine line I have to tread (not that I am a pervert, you understand). I don't actively look, at ladies' bits, indeed, I try to avert my eyes at all times - I even scuttle off to the toilets to get changed, (such is my modesty in these situations), but it's just wall to wall well droopy swingers, and it's difficult to know where is the best place to look (careful - didn't mean it quite like that!). Any advice greatly welcomed.
Sorry I've been missing for a while!
Oops - doesn't time fly when you're away from your blog? A lot has happened in the last week or so, so here we go ...
Well, for starters, the exercise bicycle seat has mysteriously reappeared - told you it was most likely a student. Oddly enough, the machine seems to be working better, too. Went to the gym last weekend and decided to push myself a bit further - I have discovered that getting myself into a Zen-like state and blocking out the truly terrible music that plays in the gym is the best way of getting through it all. I can't tell you how much I hate Justin Bieber, Alesha Dixon and The Wanted. Truly awful. How the f**k that is supposed to motivate you is completely beyond me. Anyway, I digress - I managed to get up to 5km/h on the treadmill, which is pretty good going for me, let me tell you. Then I did my usual 30 minutes on the exercise bike, starting off at effort level 1 for the first km, then up to effort level 2 for the next 8 km, and lastly, I achieved a whopping effort level 3 for the last 2 km. I felt so good (not to mention knackered, obviously), that I decided to go on the arm bike and see how far I could push myself a bit more. I am excited to report that I managed to do 5km (yes, that's right - 5KM!!!) of arm exercise, which I thought was fabulous of me!! Having said that, I practically fell off the bike, staggered back into the changing rooms and nearly passed out with the fatigue.
During this session, though, I did notice a strange phenomena creeping in to the environment - a set of non-identical twins came into the gym that day. Funny, because I don't recall them being conjoined or anything like that - certainly didn't see an umbilical cord attaching them together either. All the more strange then, that whatever machine the skinny one was using, that the fat twin had to join her at the machine by her side within 3 minutes of her switching exercise apparatus. This trend continued throughout the time I was there - first they started off on the exercise bikes on the front row, then the skinny one (Miss Independent) went onto the arm bike, when I noticed the fat one (Miss Completely Dependent), look strained and stressed and obviously suffering from separation anxiety, practically leapt off her bike and went to sit on the arm bike at the side of Miss Independent within 3 minutes of being left by herself. Now then, I go to the gym and work out all by myself and don't really think of it as traumatic (well, not in that respect anyway) to be left alone, but this one was something else. She was trying to give the arm bike a go, but not really getting down to it, because gossip was far more important, then all of a sudden - calamity - Miss Independent dared to switch machines again - this time the rowing machine. That stresses Miss Completely Dependent (or Stalky, as I like to call her), out so much that, once again, she has to hop off the machine and take up residence on the rowing machine next to Skinny. Thirty seconds in, Stalky went bright red, started whimpering, stopped rowing and just sat there, gossiping to Miss Independent, disturbing her concentration, and waited for her to finish her session instead. Marvellous how anyone else who wanted to use the rowing machine couldn't - not because it was being used for its' purpose, but because some fat cow couldn't bear to be separated from her friend, but yet didn't want to work out at the gym either.
The best bit was that it was15 minutes before the gym closed, and they both needed to shower, but hadn't left themselves enough time, and weren't even going to leave the gym floor until the staff came to shoo them out - how ill-mannered and inconsiderate is that? People, when you're at the gym, please be considerate and more self-aware - please don't be like these two.
Anyway, on the way home from this session, I suddenly got a banging headache, and, as such, felt the urge to have a bit of chocolate to get my energy back. Unfortunately, the curse of Bridget Jones struck me, as I had undergone the most amazing workout and was very pleased and proud of myself, I got brought down to earth really badly when I discovered I couldn't open the bag of Minstrels, and so had to ask my partner to open them for me. You see, I can work out with the best of them when I put my mind to it, but I'm afraid trying to open a bag of naughty chocolate is still way beyond my capabilities! Unless, perhaps, it was fate's way of telling me that I'll never lose weight if I continue to eat crap like I do!!!!!
Well, for starters, the exercise bicycle seat has mysteriously reappeared - told you it was most likely a student. Oddly enough, the machine seems to be working better, too. Went to the gym last weekend and decided to push myself a bit further - I have discovered that getting myself into a Zen-like state and blocking out the truly terrible music that plays in the gym is the best way of getting through it all. I can't tell you how much I hate Justin Bieber, Alesha Dixon and The Wanted. Truly awful. How the f**k that is supposed to motivate you is completely beyond me. Anyway, I digress - I managed to get up to 5km/h on the treadmill, which is pretty good going for me, let me tell you. Then I did my usual 30 minutes on the exercise bike, starting off at effort level 1 for the first km, then up to effort level 2 for the next 8 km, and lastly, I achieved a whopping effort level 3 for the last 2 km. I felt so good (not to mention knackered, obviously), that I decided to go on the arm bike and see how far I could push myself a bit more. I am excited to report that I managed to do 5km (yes, that's right - 5KM!!!) of arm exercise, which I thought was fabulous of me!! Having said that, I practically fell off the bike, staggered back into the changing rooms and nearly passed out with the fatigue.
During this session, though, I did notice a strange phenomena creeping in to the environment - a set of non-identical twins came into the gym that day. Funny, because I don't recall them being conjoined or anything like that - certainly didn't see an umbilical cord attaching them together either. All the more strange then, that whatever machine the skinny one was using, that the fat twin had to join her at the machine by her side within 3 minutes of her switching exercise apparatus. This trend continued throughout the time I was there - first they started off on the exercise bikes on the front row, then the skinny one (Miss Independent) went onto the arm bike, when I noticed the fat one (Miss Completely Dependent), look strained and stressed and obviously suffering from separation anxiety, practically leapt off her bike and went to sit on the arm bike at the side of Miss Independent within 3 minutes of being left by herself. Now then, I go to the gym and work out all by myself and don't really think of it as traumatic (well, not in that respect anyway) to be left alone, but this one was something else. She was trying to give the arm bike a go, but not really getting down to it, because gossip was far more important, then all of a sudden - calamity - Miss Independent dared to switch machines again - this time the rowing machine. That stresses Miss Completely Dependent (or Stalky, as I like to call her), out so much that, once again, she has to hop off the machine and take up residence on the rowing machine next to Skinny. Thirty seconds in, Stalky went bright red, started whimpering, stopped rowing and just sat there, gossiping to Miss Independent, disturbing her concentration, and waited for her to finish her session instead. Marvellous how anyone else who wanted to use the rowing machine couldn't - not because it was being used for its' purpose, but because some fat cow couldn't bear to be separated from her friend, but yet didn't want to work out at the gym either.
The best bit was that it was15 minutes before the gym closed, and they both needed to shower, but hadn't left themselves enough time, and weren't even going to leave the gym floor until the staff came to shoo them out - how ill-mannered and inconsiderate is that? People, when you're at the gym, please be considerate and more self-aware - please don't be like these two.
Anyway, on the way home from this session, I suddenly got a banging headache, and, as such, felt the urge to have a bit of chocolate to get my energy back. Unfortunately, the curse of Bridget Jones struck me, as I had undergone the most amazing workout and was very pleased and proud of myself, I got brought down to earth really badly when I discovered I couldn't open the bag of Minstrels, and so had to ask my partner to open them for me. You see, I can work out with the best of them when I put my mind to it, but I'm afraid trying to open a bag of naughty chocolate is still way beyond my capabilities! Unless, perhaps, it was fate's way of telling me that I'll never lose weight if I continue to eat crap like I do!!!!!
Monday 10 January 2011
OMG - surely someone would have seen that going!
Went to the gym on Saturday - was quite happily using the treadmill when I noticed there must have been a break in on Friday night, because I know nothing had gone any earlier. One of the exercise bike seats had been taken off the machine and was no more!!!! My God - how the hell has someone nicked that, in full view of everybody else, tucked it under their gym vest (some of them are very sheer and tight-fitting, you know), done a runner (probably very quickly - there are some amazingly fit people go in there, you know) and not been challenged, or spotted, by anyone else. Maybe it was a championship boxer, who was too big and tough to challenge, or perhaps, just perhaps, it was a drunken student who, in the absence of a traffic cone, thought he'd try his luck with an exercise bike seat.
Anyway, I'm still trying the arm exerciser - things are getting better, so I think I'll stick with it a bit longer, in the vain hope my bingo wings reduce quickly. Will post my progress (if any) in due course.
Anyway, I'm still trying the arm exerciser - things are getting better, so I think I'll stick with it a bit longer, in the vain hope my bingo wings reduce quickly. Will post my progress (if any) in due course.
Friday 7 January 2011
Think I'm gonna pass out any minute now .......
Just been to the gym, and had a go on the arm exerciser - it's like an exercise bike, but for arms instead of legs. Think my technique must be a bit wrong, because my right arm was getting tired more than the left one was. If anyone knows why this would be, please feel free to let me know/educate me in the ways of the arm exerciser! I've done 2km's worth of exercising, before I felt a bit too tired to carry on for today. Trying to get rid of my bingo wings is proving more difficult than I thought - mind you, it's taken me forty years to accumulate it, so I guess it's not going to disappear overnight (sadly).
Had to buy some more trainers last weekend, thanks to my rather mischevious/easily bored collie. He's developed a trick of bringing my slippers and shoes to me whenever I've been out and come back into the house, but this time he didn't want to give me them back, and the next time I looked, he'd chewed the backs of my trainers and they ended up with dog-shaped holes in the heels - rather more like flip-flops than the sports footwear I was rather more accustomed to seeing. Anyway, after an emergency trip to a well-known shoe shop, I am now the proud owner of a new pair of trainers whose laces are overlong, and I now face the additional risk of tripping up or getting them trapped in the exercise bike pedals, which would be rather embarrassing, don't you think?
Anyway, after my mammoth exercise session, which consisted of ten minutes on the treadmill, thirty minutes on the exercise bike and ten minutes on the arm exerciser (not entirely sure what it's real name is), I duly staggered back into the changing rooms, to be hit in the face by someone's truly awful BO. Why, oh why don't people shower more often than they do, especially when they know they are going to be in a communal area and people can't possibly avoid them in close proximity? I nearly passed out with the fumes, and if I'd stayed longer, I'm sure I would have.
I'm thinking of putting a suggestion forward that the gym has "sniff monitors" installed on the doors - that way, when people pass though the doorframe, perhaps a message could flash up somewhere and give you the state of your hygiene levels. You know, something like "A little bit whiffy today, madam - showers are that way", all the way up to "Oh my God - you dirty cow - how about a new year, new shower regime?" I'm pretty sure it could catch on, and it does beat those awful, embarrassing one to one chats with the boss, eh? Come on girls, let's give it a go....!
Had to buy some more trainers last weekend, thanks to my rather mischevious/easily bored collie. He's developed a trick of bringing my slippers and shoes to me whenever I've been out and come back into the house, but this time he didn't want to give me them back, and the next time I looked, he'd chewed the backs of my trainers and they ended up with dog-shaped holes in the heels - rather more like flip-flops than the sports footwear I was rather more accustomed to seeing. Anyway, after an emergency trip to a well-known shoe shop, I am now the proud owner of a new pair of trainers whose laces are overlong, and I now face the additional risk of tripping up or getting them trapped in the exercise bike pedals, which would be rather embarrassing, don't you think?
Anyway, after my mammoth exercise session, which consisted of ten minutes on the treadmill, thirty minutes on the exercise bike and ten minutes on the arm exerciser (not entirely sure what it's real name is), I duly staggered back into the changing rooms, to be hit in the face by someone's truly awful BO. Why, oh why don't people shower more often than they do, especially when they know they are going to be in a communal area and people can't possibly avoid them in close proximity? I nearly passed out with the fumes, and if I'd stayed longer, I'm sure I would have.
I'm thinking of putting a suggestion forward that the gym has "sniff monitors" installed on the doors - that way, when people pass though the doorframe, perhaps a message could flash up somewhere and give you the state of your hygiene levels. You know, something like "A little bit whiffy today, madam - showers are that way", all the way up to "Oh my God - you dirty cow - how about a new year, new shower regime?" I'm pretty sure it could catch on, and it does beat those awful, embarrassing one to one chats with the boss, eh? Come on girls, let's give it a go....!
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