I love to work out. For those of you who are surprised – I do it on a need-to basis :-p. When I feel it is time to add weight I will hit the gym or do push ups at home, when I think I am gaining too much flab I will start running.
This year, I started to target train, i.e. specific objectives. For example, this year my objective is to put on a lot of weight (10kgs of both muscle and fat). That’s cause in Jan 2011, I looked ready for a C-section (company lunches at Haandis do that- I wasn’t that important but I was in an important team :D), so I went on a serious weight-loss training program. Then came Pakistan, and I lost even more weight when I had to eat beer and 2 slices of bread for dinner because I was too lazy and didn’t know how to cook for myself.
I realize I may have digressed, let’s continue.
I love to watch workout videos and read about the benefits of different kind of workouts, weight training techniques, and recently I youtube a lot of videos on posture and correct form when doing different exercises. I have even noticed a trend in my google ads, always telling me about ‘Abs of steel’ and occasional spam about ‘Pleasuring your lady friend’…rrriiight…
I love ritual, and I love methodology. Going to the gym is a ritual for me. I always tuck in my tee-shirt, never wear dirty shoes and try to start my work out at the exact same time everyday; following a set program. I follow the rules; resting a minute or less between sets, being very keen on my posture, and I concentrate; either switching off my phone or leaving it in the locker.
My current gym, is the most dangerous place in Pakistan; a series of accidents waiting to happen.
1. There are no instructors = people are ALWAYS working out with the wrong form.
2. There are no rules = my colleagues come to work out in their office clothes, only changing their shoes… I forgive them for they know not what they do, as they run on the treadmill in jeans, and some have the audacity to walk in with slippers, OLIPOS!!!
3. Nobody concentrates. People sit on the machines to have conversations, pick up phone calls in the middle of making maniacal faces in the mirror as they lift 2kg dumbbells… (2kg, that’s like working out with a Mumias packet) They pick their phones and leave their tu-weights lying there…just waiting to trip someone. They must think I work there because before I start my workout I often clean up their mess.
I love and respect the gym and its required discipline…
This is why I sold my Playstation 1 when I was 16..to join Figure 8 onTom Mboya Street; also the gym where Conje used to workout (for real).
Figure 8 had a pretty receptionist; who used to sit outside in the narrow, dark corridor typical of Tom Mboya buildings with their many stairs. Monthly membership fee at the time was 1500, and individual sessions were 150.
I joined Figure 8 with Man-Josh, who now lives in SA- my guy, I hope you didn’t forget about our place. 🙂
All muscle-focused gyms have a hierarchy of people working out and of weights. (Except my current gym where weights lie all over the place, including right at the door, ‘Gosh’ is the only expression I have for the atrocities I see in there.)
Anyway, so every GOOD gym has the weights placed in order at all times. The most used weights are usually in the centre. The lightest ones (for super scrawny guys and some fitness-freak girls) on the extreme left; and the instructors and guys suspected to be on steroids use the ones placed on the extreme right…These are the weights that you try to lift out of curiosity when nobody is watching, kisirisiri style.
In Figure 8, I was the ONLY person wiping the dust off the weights on the extreme left. Again I say, ‘Gosh’…even the only girl in the gym used to work from the centre weights. Believe me when I say I have a very dark past.
Figure 8 must have been a gym for bouncers and bouncers only. They didn’t make fun of me though, as I flat-bench pressed my 10kg (TOTAL weight) and incline-bench pressed the bar alone without weights. These bodies took me under their massive wings (gym pun intended), and one of the biggest ones used to greet me enthusiastically each time, shouting ‘Ah, sema body! Train bana!’
Figure 8, where I used to rock up in my shiny bling (remember my ear), and drink water from the cups whose brims smelled like dry saliva. In between sets, I would watch the sinewy tall Sudanese guy doing free weight squats getting that awkward sporting you get when doing free-weight squats as opposed to Smith’s machine squats (FYI, am just showing off knowledge right now hehe). I was also there the day after his squats, he slipped and dropped the bar on his thumb, almost bleeding to death- all that blood, you would think someone let out a foetus.
I sold the playstation 1 I had at that time to finance this new hobby, and I will never forget the day I was found out.
For the first time in my life, nilichapwa kama mwizi, Heh!
At some point I remember my mum telling my dad to use a mwiko- and in the confusion, I didn’t know whether she was trying to save me or if it was that she thought he was getting tired.
Then I was given money to buy back the playstation from my classmate. LOL.