I had a small pause for thought today as regards my gym membership. I was doing quite well attendance-wise last year, but this year so far has been a bit patchy so I briefly considered dropping it. Then I remembered I did actually enjoy going and besides they have a reasonable bar and free wifi both of which I really should make an effort to use more often.

I was a little amazed when I phoned that there was nobody that could take my money, but I was promised a call back. Usually I’m very sceptical when promised a call back, but in this instance I’m actually trying to give them money rather than grief so I’m reasonably hopeful.

I’m not usually one to see the upsides, but there is a definite upside to sustaining an injury while at the gym. No, it isn’t suing the gym; I’m not one of those “entitlement” ambulance chasing scumbags. It isn’t the fact that it gives me an excuse to dodge a workout for a few days, because frankly I can work around the injury.

The upside is that it prompts me to do a little anatomical reading which is always enlightening. I now know what adductor muscles are, where they are, and what discomfort it causes when you stretch or tear the muscle fibres of this particular group.

Yup, according to the dubious medical diagnosis which arises from a little Internet searching I have a groin strain. Feel free to have at it in the humour department, I’m going to restrain from making any of the obvious jokes. In fact I’m going to use the restraint that it appears I should have done while rowing today. Row, row, row, sharp stabbing pain in muscle; continue to row while ostensibly not using legs which really isn’t rowing. Try to use legs again, get stabbing pain again. Give up and try cycling very, very gingerly.

Another day, another gym irritation; I don’t object to the rules they seem quite sensible. Switch off mobile phones in the gym; always use a towel on equipment. So it would be reasonable for me to be irritated my people flouting these rules and indeed I am, but what is possibly even more irritating is the lack of enforcement. This is even more galling because I noticed the gym towel sign actually claims that it will be “strictly enforced”. Well I can tell you it isn’t, as I saw a couple of transgressors today.

But what really got on my nerves today was two idiots on mobile phones, one male one female. The male stood around loudly having a conversation, just loud enough to bleed through my ear buds but as noise rather than discernable speech. Eventually that particular idiot went away. Then a girl took to the cross-trek next to me and proceeded to babble on her phone. Thankfully I only had a couple of minutes of my workout left, but boy did it make my blood boil; a little common courtesy goes a long way.

I was tempted to ask “Given the signs prohibiting mobile phones are clear for all to see, I’m curious is it that you’re illiterate or just plain ignorant?”

But then I suppose I’d have been in the wrong wouldn’t I, and besides I’m not the one being paid to do the enforcement; I’m paying a pretty penny for a pleasant atmosphere to workout in and sometime I wonder if I’m getting good value for money.

Finally, I’ve gotten the Christmas opening hours from the gym. I get the 25th, 26th and New Years day off; other than that it’s exercise as usual! That means based on my starting this seemingly ridiculous escapade on Monday 2nd November 2009, I’ve have completed my 100 contiguous (a word I’ve redefined somewhat to fit the terms of my self-wager) days on Friday 13th February 2010.

So that’s something I’ve started in this decade, that won’t be finished until the turn of the next decade; certainly sounds like me...

Lego advent model for today is a sledge or possibly a sleigh, could be either I think.

I commented as I got to the gym “I just know I’m going to finish my workout just as the last race is run.”

Horses galloped past the window, and looking at the readout on the machine showed 3 minutes.

“See” I said “Just as I predicted. This is one of those times I’d like to have been wrong.”

I didn’t feel much like sitting in the traffic leaving the race meeting, so I thought I’d try the alternative route out. I’d seen the signposts before, but I’d never timed it this badly so it hadn’t mattered. The traffic was already beginning to build, and I followed it through the golf club car park onto a service road across the edge of the race course.

Within ten minutes I was home and gulping down a post workout OJ. That’s definitely a shortcut I shall commit to memory.

I caught the first few minutes of the televisual travesty that is “I’m a celebrity get me out of here”, a program so utterly low rent that I don’t usually watch it for the same reason that I don’t shop in Iceland; the consumption of either makes me gag.

Now I realise the target demographic for this show isn’t aerospace buffs, but I had to laugh at the mismatch between the opening credits and the programme itself. In the opening sequence various CGI helicopters are shown flying around, which look very much to be Bell 430’s (a modern version of the Bell 222 of Airwolf fame). However the shots of a helicopter actually landing “in the jungle” was a Robinson R44; an aircraft that most “real” helicopter pilots would rightly dismiss as having more in common with a lawnmower that a genuine turbine driven rotary winged craft.

I’m sure there’s some sort of mixed metaphor in their about celebrities not being what they really are and trying to present themselves as something else. Not to mention desperately trying to kick-start their flagging careers. Although on that last point I may be smashing the windows of the glass house, so I’d better tread carefully.

Incidentally, if you’re wondering why I was watching this programme it was because it was the only thing on that wasn’t sport during the last 10 minutes of today’s workout.

This morning was one of the more productive I’ve had of recent weeks. Dropped car at garage at just before 7am, walked to gym. Had a very pleasant workout; with the sun barely above the horizon and the mist still lying heavily on the race course. The gym itself was pretty quiet, but not dead; can’t quite believe I’m thinking it, but I might workout early morning more often. Walked back home at a somewhat leisurely pace, and was scoffing bacon and mushrooms by 10am.

I walked back to pick up the car later in the afternoon, which was somewhat of a mistake; not the picking the car up part, but rather the walking part. When I left the house there was a little rain, but by the time I’d got half way it was like I was being followed by my very own bucket. The rain was pouring down, and I discovered a design flaw in my choice of jacket. While it was keeping my torso dry, the cuff at the bottom was doing a perfect job of funnelling the water down onto my trousers. So I was almost exactly 50% wet and 50% dry. Anyhow, at least the car passed the MOT without any problems, or more importantly any costs save the MOT itself. Although I think I must have been somewhat in a daze because I caught myself making, very uncharacteristically, small talk with the receptionist at the garage.

Going to the gym on a Sunday is very rare for me; at least it has been up until this point. Sunday afternoon at 3pm could just be the very deadest of dead spots gym attendance wise. Not that I’m saying that’s a particularly bad thing, just making the observation.

Anyhow my being at the gym, and working out I hasten to add, marks I think my first ever contiguous 7 day period and starts my 100 days idea off quite well. 7 days down, only 93 to go!

I notice whenever I have complaints about the gym, it’s almost never about the staff or the building or the equipment; it’s about my fellow members. Most members are perfectly polite, pleasant, intelligent individuals; sadly however there does seem to be a small cadre of cretins for whom the slightest notion of etiquette or decorum is utterly lacking.

Firstly my ongoing irritation with the inability of some to read the “Adult Changing” signs which clearly demark the areas of the facility where children shouldn’t be. I accept that children are allowed in the club, I even accept that keeping them quiet without mechanical restraint (which I imagine is frowned upon) is quite difficult, so I won’t complain about that. But how hard is it to read the damned signs and stick to the allotted area with your kids. That way I can get changed without the little brats running around, which I’d wholly prefer; because you’ll doubtless be the one complaining loudest when one of your little brats cracks their skull on my kneecap which they seem constantly to want to do, and I’m getting quite tired of preventing.

Secondly conversations that I’d expect to hear in a pub, I’d generally rather not hear at the gym. Now I’m not going to try to overhear your conversation, so a little moderation in volume and your verbal discourse can be whatever you like. I know what I’d think appropriate “in public”, but I’m not going to superimpose my ethics on you; all I ask is that you keep it down a bit. However commenting at full volume “Yeah, hermaphrodites seem like a good idea – but the problem is once you’ve had a go on her she’ll want a go on you” I just don’t know where to start on what I think of that!

Lastly, and this is something that doubly irritates me because it can affect me even though in theory it can’t; gym towels. It is common etiquette to use towels in the gym and in this particular gym (I think they prefer to be called “a fitness and wellbeing establishment”) signs have advocated this policy for years. However relatively recently they’ve started providing complimentary towels. I don’t use them as I’ve a whole stack of gym towels I purchased from M&S some years ago. But those that do seem determined to leave the towels littering the changing rooms rather than placing them into the containers provided. Then I get a sly look because I’m leaving the changing area where there’s a towel (which wasn’t mine) but I think the other member presumed it was. So now someone is under their breath criticising me for someone else’s laziness - great!

I did reasonably well with my self imposed 100 days of blogging experiment, insofar as I actually managed 100 days I guess that could be called a success. Incidentally the fact that you might have “quality” issues with the content doesn’t detract from the mathematical certainties; I said I’d make 100 contiguous entries and that I did.

If we take that as proof that goal setting of this kind has been shown to be effective, perhaps I could apply it to other things. I was pondering the idea of 100 contiguous days at the gym. That said it can’t be entirely straightforward because the gym will be closed for at least a couple of days during the Christmas holiday. Then there are weekends; I don’t normally attend much at weekends so have absolutely no preferred schedule. So rather than a nice simple rule, it’ll have to be 100 contiguous day when the gym is actually open which will by definition be different to 100 contiguous calendar days. Also when I say at the gym, I’m meaning some form of exercise has to take place; simply going to the bar at the gym won’t count, although in I think nearly 9 years of membership I’ve only ever done that once.

I traditionally get a belting cold sometime in December, which I suspect might well kill this experiment if the whole weekend thing doesn’t get it first. But despite by pessimism, I’m drawing a metaphorical line in the digital sand and saying today is day 1 of 100. See you at the gym!

Perhaps I’m getting old and cranky. Actually it’s pretty much indisputable that I’m getting older, and I’m not really in a sufficiently objective place to say if I’m getting crankier. So really my whole opening gambit here is entirely redundant, but I refuse to waste those keystrokes so it’s staying put.

Anyway, I’m not yet sure if it’s happening more or I’m noticing it more; but yesterday once again somewhat had set up stall at the gym to market a product or service. Yesterday’s example was a mortgage broker. Now I studiously ignored them, and they didn’t bother me so I’m simply a little unhappy as opposed to apoplectic with rage.

If the gym needs more money, I’d be quite happy for them to put up the membership fees. Actually there are a few areas that could benefit from a little attention, so maybe they do need the money. But I’d rather they raised it directly from me, rather than indirectly. Come to think of it, now they’re supposed to be a charity rather than a business what gives?

I was at the gym again today, finishing my workout with a 45 minute cycle. However about half way through I finished listening to the last podcast I had for today (Buzz Out Loud as it happens) and didn’t feel like listening to anything twice so I flicked off my iPod. As I carried on cycling with only the gym’s background music for distraction, I stared out of the window letting my mind wander. I won’t elucidate on what I was pondering; suffice to say my thoughts were many and varied.

Then with a sudden squeal of tortured metal my metaphorical train of thought was comprehensively derailed by a woman stepping onto a treadmill and thereby blocking my eye line and forcing me to refocus from a relaxing infinity to much closer to hand. Damn, I looked down at the control panel and watched a few waves of led ripple by. But doing that just seemed to slow time, so I looked up again. By now the woman was in full flow on the treadmill. I raised an eyebrow and stared for a moment, then chuckled to myself. Her hair was cut in what looked like a “bowl cut”, I suppose it was probably bobbed. But what amused me was that her rhythmical running was making the hair bounce up with each step she took so her hair looked to me like jellyfish. A jellyfish on a treadmill, I don’t know what the punch line would be but I’m sure there should be one!

If I was playing Gym Bingo, which I wasn’t intentionally, then I achieved a full-house today. I have now seen and spoken to all the people who I used to see more regularly at the gym. Whether this is proof of my more regular attendance or theirs is hard to say, but I think if we say a little of both that’s probably somewhere near the truth.

Apparently it transpired I’d been asked after by a mutual acquaintance, at which news my brain did a very peculiar little dance. When it finally registered which acquaintance this was, it collapsed in a heap grinning like an idiot. Luckily, I can continue to hold a conversation while my brain goes on vacation like this; if you owned my brain (which I happen to know you don’t!) you’d know this is somewhat of a common occurrence because I do have rather a tendency to over think most things.

We discussed how being 30-something meant everyone else was having children and I think both had the same view of this! It was good to hear most of my old work colleagues were doing well. We chatted for a while, and then I left feeling pleased with my workout and happy to have bumped in to one of the upbeat people I know!

I tried an experiment yesterday, a very simple one which involved swapping my usual podcast diet for a musical one whilst working out at the gym. I’m not sure it made much difference to the effort I put in; I think maybe more research in necessary before I draw a conclusion. However it did make one difference, I pretty sure I didn’t pull any weird faces. Putting any smartarse jokes about how weird my face looks when inexpressive aside, podcasts such as Gadgettes, 404 and Buzz Out Loud are funny and I do somewhat struggle to control a grin when listening. Generally this isn’t too much of an issue because you aren’t facing people, except when you’re rowing.

Well I was rowing today, and I very nearly laughed out loud; certainly I utterly failed to stifle a grin and the reason for this was someone else’s facial contortions. I was gazing into space through an unused cross-trek machine. This guy hopped onto the machine, and immediately turned to speak to the girl using the next machine along. She was wearing headphones and her body language seemed to suggest that her talkative neighbour was unappreciated. I continued rowing, watching the digital display. His movement, in my peripheral vision, caught my eye and I looked in their direction again. He’d just finished speaking to her, and was now staring straight ahead. As she turned away, to resume her workout, she pulled the most expressive face. A mixture of disgust and lemon sucking would best describe it I think, clearly the attention wasn’t appreciated.

I have a question, do female electricians cost more? I’d imagine they are a good deal less common than their male counterparts, but rarity doesn’t always equal cost. I ask the question because again today I find myself in the female changing room at the gym as worked needed doing and I presume only males were available. I suppose there’s no cost implication to the gym of swapping facilities, maybe that’s why they haven’t sought out tradespersons of both genders.

As a side note, I noted an advertising sticker in the locker for Special K. Given that it’s generally marketed towards women that wasn’t wholly surprising; but the fact that it appeared to be advocating some kind of triumphal nudity was somewhat unexpected!

I don’t remember noticing it before so perhaps it’s a new thing; but on the way into the gym this evening I noticed a sign posted giving details of the last race of the day. This was handy as before I arrived I hadn’t, once again, realised that it was a race-day; so the opportunity to ensure I got out before the race going hordes was a welcome one.

You’d think the machinery would be a sufficient form of torture at the gym, but tonight the place found a new way; Meat. I was plodding away on the cross-trek gazing out of the window across the racecourse when I saw people gathering below. What I hadn’t noticed was that there was a barbecue and the gathering of people we carrying platters of steaks, sausages and burgers. The most chef-like member of the group then proceeded to place all the meat onto the grill and within seconds the minute window vents had sucked up the cooking odour and the smell of cooking meat filled my nostrils. So before very long I’m quite sure I was producing even more saliva than I was sweat and the urge to knock the whole exercising thing on the head and go off in search of a large lump of cow was barely containable. However I’m pleased to say I did complete my set and resisted the urge to seek animal protein.

I was at the gym again today, he says in a totally blatant and slightly self congratulatory way! However I have nothing to say about the gym itself, but rather my route to it. My gym of choice, which by happy coincidence is the one I’m a member of, shares its entrance roadway with a race course. If I pick the wrong time to visit when there is a race on the traffic situation can often be somewhat less than optimal.

Today it appeared there was a race on; I should really check the calendar more often. More by luck than judgement I was visiting early and it looked like a 7pm race. Getting in therefore was wholly without incident, getting out though was another matter. I threaded my way through the throngs of people who clearly though the road was a pavement and avoided the various obstacles race day brings until I came to the final roundabout. As I cross the roundabout I’m confronted by a stout looking gent with a very spherical head and a straw boater. His ruddy complexion suggests he’s not a stranger to alcohol and his waving suggests he’s made the acquaintance of a bottle or two today. He seems to think I don’t know where I’m going, but I do. He, I presume, thinks I want to go into the race course; which I don’t. So I slowly manoeuvre around him, and nod my head in the direction I intend to go.

He now looks thoroughly crushed and his shoulders sink visibly. He shuffles out of the road and totters towards the racecourse entrance. Perhaps he used to be a School crossing guard and enjoyed the power he held sway over motorists. Now he’s just a civilian and I ruined his fun; I almost felt a little guilty.

One of the “features” of my gym having now become a Fitness & Wellbeing centre is that they are rather keen on their “vi1 health assessments”. I was rather leaned on to book one when I renewed my membership earlier in the year, but it wasn’t a particularly hard sell so I brushed it aside.

On occasions there will be some company or other promoting something at the gym, it’s reasonably infrequent but I still would rather it wasn’t there. I like to be rattling around in my own head when I go to the gym, and having to deal politely with people trying to sell me things doesn’t enhance the experience. I imagine it doesn’t bother most people, but it does me.

So I was more than a little irked when I was approached today by a member of staff essentially trying to sell me on the idea of doing an assessment. Now normally my default reaction would have been to refuse, but it was an easy way of getting a cholesterol test so I said yes and booked a time. At the time this seemed an odd thing to do, but my mind was otherwise engaged so deferred thinking too hard about it till later.

On leaving the gym I made a quick phone call to an ex-colleague to apologise for not being able to make it out for drinks, only to discover it was an invite from yesterday; but he suggested there was still time to get a couple of drinks before closing time. I decided to take him up on the offer, and dropped my gym bag back at home before heading into town.

As I drove I pondered. Did I really want to do the test, or was I caught unawares by the hard sell whilst I was exercising. I suppose you might not call it the hard sell, given it was a free service. But damn it, I decided frankly I was going to cancel on principle. I can think of several excuses not to go to the gym, being accosted by the staff is one I’d rather not add.

Besides which having now read the terms and conditions I’m certainly not keen. I don’t care if it’s anonymised or not I’m not having my physiological data used for marketing purposes.

I was a little confused when I entered the gym today. There are 3 doors 2 inbound and 1 outbound. I saw a sign on the glass door which said “Sports Bra”. Odd I thought, is this some jaunty new alternative way of labelling the sexes, perhaps the other door would be labelled “Jock Straps”. I checked the other door, but that was covered with the same sign as the first door.

I didn’t want to hold anyone up, so I didn’t really have time to examine the sign in detail. On the presumption that the gym hadn’t turned single gender overnight I headed for the changing rooms. Thankfully my assumption proved correct and my workout was uneventful, although whoever keeps tuning one of the 4 main televisions to whatever channel it is which broadcasts Coronation Street needs a severe talking to. To the best of my knowledge there wasn’t anyone in the gym over 50 at that time, and surely being over 50 is a pre-requisite for watching “Cory” isn’t it?

Anyhow, being as it was less busy on the way out I saw what all the signage was about. Obvious really I guess, they are advertising sports bras. Although I don’t think I’ve ever seen advertising on the glass doors, they’re usually reserved for notices about changing room swaps or plumbing failures. Given they were taken over a few months back; perhaps this is an idea from the new owners?

I still haven’t really settled on a gym routine this year, so I found myself there at 19:45 today. Obviously that’s not the sweet spot as it was a bit too busy for my liking. Also just recently I’ve found that whatever time I visit there is always some oddball with no sense of appropriate gym clothing. Tonight apparently jeans were a reasonable choice for a certain individual, really full-on waist to ankle denim. It seems to me that besides signs about towels and mobile phones there really ought to be a sign which reads :

“Any clearly inappropriate dress will commented upon loudly and sarcastically by members of the gym staff. Particularly egregious transgressors may be humiliated by tannoy. You have been warned.”

• You’re obviously a gym noob if you don’t realise that the headphone sockets on the bikes aren’t live until the display is.
• You’re obviously a gym noob if you leave a pound in the lockers, and a complete idiot if you find said pound and leap around like a drunkard informing everyone within audio range that you are now one pound richer. Frankly I imagine if an extra pound is going to make that much difference you’d be better off dropping your gym membership.
• You’re obviously a gym noob if you think using any piece of equipment for 2 minutes and 20 second will do anything other than irritate your fellow gym users.
• You’re obviously a gym noob if wearing corduroy trousers and high fashion running shoes without laces seem like a good idea to you.
• You’re obviously a gym noob if you think clanking machine weights to attract attention is a good idea. I won’t speak on behalf of the ladies, but I suspect they’ll notice your lack of proper lifting posture and lack of neck before they notice the inappropriate amount of weight you’re trying to press.

I have no problem with you being a noob, by definition we’re all noobs at some point. However if you’re the sort of person who wears silly hats and stumbles around with an unfolded map speaking English very loudly when on holiday then please do all other members a favour and join another gym.

Several Mondays have gone by where I’ve been unable to get my metaphorical ducks in a row. There have been various good and frankly not-so-good reasons that I’ve been unable to get to the gym. You might wonder why Monday was significant; well I’d decided to return to regular gym service starting on a Monday and that’s what I was going to do. Starting on a different day would just have been an admission of failure. It’s a pity that Mondays occur on their own schedule rather than mine, but I guess that’s just calendars for you!

My experience thus far is that every time I forgo the gym for a few weeks they decide to radically reorganise the equipment ruining my usual route around place. Thankfully this time I found everything were I’d left it which is all the more surprising given they’ve been purchased by another company. But apart from all new signage I don’t see any real changes, not that I see that as a bad thing.

Will much of tomorrow’s blog entry be me bemoaning various muscular aches and pains? If I had a magic 8 ball to hand it would probably say “Signs point to yes”.

Just as the muscles of your body wither with inverse proportion to the regularity of ones visits to the gym, so the blog glands ability to exude "blog-entry-goo" diminishes with lack of use.

So really, I'm just warming up again. It's not that I didn't write whilst this blog was on what I shall euphemistically call hiatus, but I wasn't really writing "blog-stylee". Therefore I may take a little while to slip back into this groove.