If I was attached to a generator there’d be a powercut

Uh oh! I’m all in a spin.

Legs fly as fast as they will go

(not fast enough) but I’m getting thin…

At least my brain tells me so.

Faster! Faster! Stand up! Sit down!

In the mirror I chance a glance

A mistake.  Puce face and concentrated frown

Etched on my brow.  “Up the resistance!”

My legs are showing some resistance

To change. At least I chose a bike

Away from the window with its queue

Of cars, lined up to see what they like

Or not. Definitely not, I’m hot, that’s true

But not in the way that if I got thin

(I try to grin) but…I can’t bear it!

These Days

Today I asked if I could try some interval training at the gym, I have grown a bit in confidence since choosing to add some floor exercises. In the shop window ambiance of the place, these take centre stage where the passing motorists get the best view of all of your struggles with balancing on the Swiss ball – or not balancing in my case.

So, full of enthusiasm, I take to the treadmill, this time adding minute-long bursts of speed to my usual budget battery walk. An unbecoming shade of crimson soon adorns my face.

I do similar on the recumbent cycle and move onto the weights. I try and complete them in double quick time. I saw this lady on TV, In her 90s but looked a passable 45; she swore that her ‘secret’ was having done lightning quick exercises everyday all her life. Demonstrating in the studio, she managed to put the infinitely younger presenters to shame – and they must have been young enough to be great-grandchildren.

I cool down on the rowing machine and am joined by a pesky young whippersnapper of about 12 who seems intent on challenging me to a race – on whose fish gets eaten by the shark quickest. I didn’t know they had games on them…

In the changing room the shower cubicle next to me has music rising through the torrent, ”Those were the days my friend…”

Someone seems happy, I think to myself, but actually she’s wrong. These are the days!

On Display

My local gym has been refurbished. It’s a while since I’ve been. Hitherto the lair of, rather intimidating, super-fit women and the type of men who drive convertibles and like to pose in front of mirrors or catch their reflections in passing windows. I don’t have any pre-conceived notions you understand, but I did like going to that ladies-only gym with no windows opposite a certain station in Ryde. That one suited my purposes just fine.
Clutching my piece of paper, a passport to a new me, I was shown the ropes by a very helpful man who showed me how technology would record my every panting exertion and monitor my beating heart. Not only would it tell me how few calories I expended for such energetic endeavours, it would start me off next time at the right pace and difficulty and take my mind off the pain with a little tv (I can change channels to suit or I can plug in my own sounds – I just have to provide the moves).
So far so impressive. I went on the exercise bike and the rowing machine, all was well. Then it was the treadmill. Oh mighty goldfish bowl! Facing out on the busy main road, I was tempted to wave to the hordes of people that went by. And every single one looked in. Shouldn’t motorists be keeping their eyes on the road? I know it’s not every day you see a beached whale pounding a road to nowhere and the tomato-red moon face must have been glowing like a Belisha beacon but isn’t it a bit rude? People of the Isle of Wight, I am trying to get fit, please avert your gaze.
As I now know how it feels, I will try and do likewise when I am driving past in future.

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