The other key element of this process is the slightly humiliating gym induction, where a hugely fit bull-male condescendingly takes me through the necessary steps to approximate some form of fitness.
Now the cycle is starting again: I’ve joined a gym near work and have started my induction process, guided back to fitness by a taciturn man-mountain of non-specific Northern/Eastern European origin named Jan (or “Yaaan” as he pronounces it). Having an induction with Yaaan is a slightly disconcerting experience. For one thing, his arms are wider than my thighs. I can’t imagine he can use a urinal, as his arms are so muscle-bound that they surely couldn’t reach round to hold his winkle. Secondly, he delivers assessments of one’s health in terse, sinister statements:
“You haf waist of vun metre. This…not good.”
“Your BMI 16%. This…not good.”
“Your flexibility is 12cm. This also…not good.”
“Your grip…adequate. This OK.”
So I’m feeling pretty crap about myself. Then he finds out I work in advertising and launches into a condemnation of my profession.
“Advertising verrr bad as teach child to vant more consume.”
I remark that I’m fully aware that capitalism isn’t a great way to run the world, but no competing system appears to be emerging and until then I have to feed and house my children somehow. Yaaan nods sagely, a bit like Conan the King on his throne agreeing to the counsel of a lowly underling. Then we’re onto the results: I have to lose 10 kilos, but Yaaan “vill help ju do zis.”
I find out just how tomorrow – I imagine it will hurt.
2 comments:
No pain. No gain. Yaaan vil terminate yoor cholesterol...
By the way, I don't think it's appropriate that you're fantasising about your fitness guru using a urinal... or that he will be unable to hold his own winkie. But maybe that why he pointed out that your grip is "ok"...?
I can assure you I shall not be offering Jan any kind of relief in the men's toilet, urinary or otherwise.
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