Years after everyone else, my local gym has bought a batch of reconditioned spinning bikes and launched some super Sunday morning classes.
It's supposed to be brilliant for runners so I signed up - to find I'm the only bloke doing it, so there's the added bonus of being surrounded by red faced women!
Yesterday, there was a perma-tanned, false nailed, heavily made up, blonde 40+yr old at the spinning class on Sunday - pretty gruesome for a Sunday morning - (well, she didn't do anything for me!) Although the rest of us were dripping sweat, her mascara didn't even run . . so either she's supremely fit or she kept the resistance on the bike to a minimum . . . perhaps I should try that too (cheating that is, not mascara!)
Wednesday, 14 May 2008
Isn't it strange how a harmless oversight can lead to a massive conundrum? I popped into the gym today, on my way to a meet a senior public sector manager. My thinking was that a hard run on the treadmill would be brilliant preparation for the meeting.
But then things took a turn for the worse.
After chucking my sweaty stuff in my gym bag and enjoying a log hot shower, I found that I had packed a pair of my wife's knickers instead of my own more modest underwear. What should I do? There was no time to go home for a pair. I could wear my sweaty ones - not nice; go without - not comfortable; or wear my wife's knickers and hope I'm not in an accident and rushed to hospital.
Of course the risk of being exposed in A&E as a temporary cross-dresser was extremely slim. I am a careful driver and why should today be the day I get unlucky and end up on a stretcher. Logic said pop them on and laugh it off at bed time when she spots her underwear clinging to my bum.
I couldn't do it . . . . . so opted to manage without.
What would you have done?