Day 2 at the gym. Its too dark to cycle into work; I've had a few near misses (or rather, near hits) on the bike; despite the fact I'm lit up like a christmas tree car drivers fail to see me.
I can only hope I'll be able to have a smug expression of "Well, pal, no way can you say you didn't see me" while lying on the mortician's slab.
So the bike is being retired until the mornings start to get a little lighter. Country roads that looked beautiful in the summer are looking less so in the autumn.
Hence meeting the mad Jane and the lovely Samantha (that, and the fact that I really need to get into shape for Whistler; skiing doesn't forgive the unfit and with my current mass I suspect I could do some serious damage to ill-placed chalets, let alone any unfortunate trees.)
Today was the second day. Having breezed through the leg related stuff yesterday, I thought I'd attempt the rower. I spent a happy half hour on the bike (maximum resistance) and then the cross trainer (a bizarre Heath-Robinson contraption involving more pedals and levers than even Tim Burton's fevered imagination could conjure) - again difficultly level as high as it could go.
So I was perhaps a little over-confident as a I swaggered over to the rower.
5 minutes on what Samantha tactfully referred to as "beginner level" was all it took before I rolled off the side of the hateful machine, curled up on the ground and wished I was dead. "Hmmm" she said "We'll have to look at your upper body strength"
Tomorrow evening I have to do something with weights. I fervently hope that that "something" involves giving them to somebody else and heading down to the pub rather than lifting the dreadful looking things. Life, I think, will not be so kind.
