Saturday, March 08, 2008

Wazzup Pudgy-Wudgy?

Gymnasium (n.): A journey back to a dark age where muscle ruled over the mind, and dark-skinned, long-haired people with 72 biceps on each arm are allowed to stare at you until you hate your own guts.


Cannons to his right and cannons to his left,

Into the valley of Death,

Ride *gulp* I.

Actual, final survival being the optimism of a probably unsound mind, updates on this treacherous journey might be sporadic. Understand, sympathise, and mock not. Send flowers.

If all evidence of life ceases and a smell rises as though off the unwashed armpits of Death Himself, call an ambulance.


Farcenal said...

Visits to the gym and as eye-opening as they are paunch-closing.

Firstly, why are there always only white people in the gym? Are Indians just too lazy and don't our Caucasian have lives? Hm.

Then of course, there are the silent but ever-present battles you face with rival tread-millers. The look of "You wanna go? Cos baby, I'm ready to hand your pudge to you on a plate!" is truly invigorating and somewhat arousing (is that natural?). It's quite sad when a 40-year old mother of two can go for 10 minutes and you start panting after about 4.

Lastly, I feel no gym trip in complete without being utterly flabbergasted by the instructor's biceps. I mean, the lad could bench-press the entire BJP with a smile on his face. I slowly slink off into the shadows of jealous mediocrity.

That being said I am Rafael Nadal's worst nightmare, physique-wise.

Farcenal said...

Oh, and nice blog. Glad I found it :-D