My Body is a NOT a Temple

Last year I joined "Orange Fitness Club" and true to it's name I ended up rounded, plump and squishy. This fall I've made the move to a more promising named "Jamaica Fitness Club" where I have my fingers crossed it will leave me tall, dark and handsome. I wouldn't bet on it. I loathe fitness clubs.

The main reason is that health nuts insist on listening to songs that are up beat, cheerful, have only six words looped throughout and are sadly all stuck in early 90s dance music genre. Today I was forced to listen to "The Rhythm of the Night" and I'm a firm believer this song should of died a painful death minutes after it was recorded.

Behind the awful sounds of dance music are people grunting in pain before they let the metal wights crash together. Thick metal slapping metal is a terrible way to get people to look at you. It impresses nobody.

But the worst thing about health club are the horrendous fashion statements people insist on making. Like most of the others, I wear the black shirt and shorts the place provides. Others are somehow able to not catch their own reflections in the multiple mirrors. The ladies here have used Madonna's Hung Up video get up as their inspiration. The problem here is that unless you are Madonna herself, you cannot pull this look off and will just remind me of my Grandma Jessie working out to her fitness tapes from the 80s. As for guys, if you are going to roll up the sleeves of your shirts I insist that I see you actually lift a weight and not just roam the club looking girls to spot for.

After my first day of training, all I can say is I'm glad I'm going into this with such a positive attitude.