Shaping Up

Two things I loathe. 1) Hollywood, or at least the image the word has come to represent. 2) The Gym. Thus, signing up to 24 Hour Fitness slap bang in the middle of Sunset Strip was probably not the best idea I've ever had. Don't get me wrong, I love to exercise. I just cannot stand the thought of moving on a stationary object for 40 minutes while surrounded by what I like to call..."c*nts"...the entire time.

And this gym in particular is choc-full of such people. To offer but one example, yesterday while feebly trembling my way through some lady-weights, I happened to hear sporadic grunts to my right. Not the grunts of someone reaching their physical peak I might add. More the grunts you might hear at the start of a Notorious BIG song. As these strange noises got my attention, I turned my head just in time to see a lantern-jawed freak begin rapping. Yes, rapping. At the top of his voice. It was at this point that I decided that this place might not be for me.

So, I sauntered off to the swimming pool. What better than a nice relaxing swim to cool me off, right? Nope. The pool was also filled to the brim with hairy-backed pond life. So it was time to hit the showers, which turned out to be exactly what I imagine prison showers to be like...minus the rape of course. There was literally a cue of naked blokes waiting to use each stall - much like waiting for the pisser at White Hart Lane. There are not many more akward feelings than trying to have a wash with a slabbering ape constantly checking his watch behind you....a naked ape at that.

I am fast concluding that a life of wheezing atop flights of stairs is a vastly better option than this. Yes, I might die earlier than people 'in shape', but after spending the evening with the rapping pole-smoker and his peers, I think that might be a fate I'm willing to live with.

Peace,

JB.