GYM-nauseum

To all those women who desperately ask: "where have all the good-looking, single men gone?!!" .. I answer: AT THE GYM!

If shops are the female realm, than definitly, the gym is the male one. Yes, women are present in this testosterone soaked environment, but I'm almost sure that the only reason that this is so, is to give men something infront of which to show off.

What do they show off? Oh, anything basically, from the obvious tricepts, to tight abs.. more like a packet of vacuum-sucked tortellini, and off to pulsing veins, dripping sweat, over-abundance of hairs..everywhere, and finishing off with, heh.. testicles yes. Testicles bulging from beneath toilet-paper thin cycling-pants. Believe me, when you're struggling your way through 30 minutes of level 7 cross-trainer the last thing you want entertaining you is a bald headed, mustached, OLD, flimsy bodied..BUT blessed in the lower abdomen area, man, trying (with no visible physical result...) to pull up a ridiculous amount of weight (too heavy or too light doesn't make any difference to either the fact that it is ridiculous or the dangling atributes.)

You see them of all shapes and sizes, and colours, and nationailty and gender orientation, and status, and background and work.. all with a common aim: that of building up muscle tissue and looking good. However, the common belief that they do it to impress the women is presicely so: a belief/legend. Nah! they do it for themselves! It is so obvious when you see them looking at themselves in the numerous mirrored walls of the gymnasium. They tilt their head sideways, raise an eyebrow and almost, but not quite so, smile at themselves. Then off they go again to huff and puff and blow their muscles up.

And the ladies? They don't just sit there, but most of them really should, unless of course the aim is to act out a slow-motioned film clip of a tortoise taking a stroll. I go into the changing room, lock my bag into the locker, take a quick glimpse in the mirror and off I go to burn away worry. Other female species seem to enjoy running around competely denuded, then applying an array of deodrants, untiperspirants, perfumes and what not, THEN unzipping huge gym bags and taking time to decide which sports bra will best suite today's tracksuite, then an eternity on pulling up their hair ( I wonder why, it's not like they go out there and sprint their way to heaven and back, risking a bad hair do with all the gales and hurricanes they encounter on the way).

And then people ask me how I manage to live without watching tv!