Cross Trainer
Ok, another "look at how cool I am" post.

Except I wasn't. In the slightest.

But I was being eyed up (so I was telling myself) - or possibly she was thinking "look at that eejit who thinks he looks cool" and I was on the cross trainer.

After 20 minutes of working out (I usually did 10, but I wanted to appear cool) I decided to get off and go and use the situp bench (Actually, I just needed to sit down as I was totally knackered).

However, I forgot that 20 minutes of cross training was about 10 more than I normally do and I had weak, rubbery legs.

You might be able to see where this is going.

I stepped off and down - put my hand out where the Cross-Trainer handle **should** have been - except it wasn't. And my legs were rubbery (which would explain why the Cross trainer lept away from me) - and the evil floor decided to flex horribly under my oh-so-steady legs (ok, maybe I lied about the floor flexing).

So there I am half stumbling, half collapsing off the equipment - I can save this.

**Flump!**

No, I can't - I've flumped into a ridiculous heap on to the floor on to my bum - in full view of the whole gym and, of course, in full view of the girl who was looking at me - Except now the look was a mix of pity and eye rolling.

I got up and stumbled on to the situp bench where, I'm pretty sure I just lay for about 10 minutes trying to do something - anything to rescue my dignity - and failing as lying in a heap, sweating, isn't dignified.....

Bah!
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Wed 15 Jul 2009, 11:23, Reply)

Giant excercise balls
No - not those ones...

I went to a refurbished council gym for a year or so and it was pretty good - they had great equipment...

One of the things they had were these giant excercise balls - you know the ones - I was given guidance on how to use them and how to make best use for toning and all that - I was super-confident - it's a great big inflatable ball - how hard can it be?

Pretty hard, it turns out.

I decided to do some situps - not that complex you might think - Unfortunately I noticed an attractive girl that might be looking at me (well, she wasn't but we men have this "idiot" switch that we can turn on oh-so-oeasily).

Ok, ease on to the giant ball - do some situps and WHAT THE HELL?

I'm not sure how, but I'd rolled the ball too far and I'd rolled backwards as the ball rolled forwards and was dumped, unceremoniously in a shaking, giggling heap behind the ball.

I just lay there for a minute or so (you know, in that way that you think "If I lie here long enough noone will notice me and/or the earth will open up and swallow me whole") - and carried on giggling to myself as I realise that I've been a total goob.

Turns out the girl wasn't looking at me as she didn't even react - well, maybe her reaction was to not look at the idiot JTW lying in a crumpled heap giggling at his own ineptness at not even being able to do some bloody situps!
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Wed 15 Jul 2009, 11:17, 2 replies)

Has anyone asked?
But how do you bruise a testicle?
(Mantrid, Wed 15 Jul 2009, 10:37, 10 replies)

Why bother
Gyms are full of men I'll never look like, and women I'll never sleep with.
(pootermunky unlurked on, Wed 15 Jul 2009, 9:50, 4 replies)

Gyms, angst, pedantry, and a bit more angst...
I'm one of those people who says the answers out loud when I'm watching a quiz on TV or listening to one on the radio. I try only to do this when I'm alone or with people I know well - it's a slightly annoying habit. But, on occasion, I can't help myself, and I'll do it in public.

I was on the cross-trainer, and just in front of me was a telly that was showing The Weakest Link. The sound was off, but the subtitles were on.

"In language," Anne said, "what 'A' is a German word describing a sense of worry or dread?"

"It's fucking Danish!" I hissed, rather too loudly.

It wasn't just those people within a 5-metre radius who turned to look in my direction. Even the contestants on the TV, I'm sure, glared at me with a look of pity and utter, utter contempt.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Wed 15 Jul 2009, 9:36, 21 replies)

Gyms? Bah...
I hate gyms.

You have to look at those overweight, aging, unfit, saggy arsed, unattractive and unmuscled blokes.

Damn those mirrors...
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Wed 15 Jul 2009, 2:50, Reply)

Sibling rivalry
The first and last time that I went to the gym was 6 years ago. My sister was worried that she was getting fat and made me sign up with her.
We started of on the rowing machines next to each other. I set off at a fairly sensible pace but then she seemed to be rowing faster than me. Worried that I was failing to impress the moderately attractive girl who worked there I decided to row as hard as I possibly could.
After a few minutes I was sick everywhere.
Then I fainted.
After I came round I was sick some more and then I had to go home.
( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Wed 15 Jul 2009, 0:22, Reply)

Hallo!
I used to go to the gym... The GYMNASIUM that it. It was my school. I am German see. It did have a gym in it though as well.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 23:52, Reply)

"you dont mind do you lads?"
A mate of mine was on a placement with Marks & Spencers during a year out from Uni. As a result of working for M&S he got to use the kick-ass gym at the nearest Marriot Hotel free of charge. Also, due to security being particularly lacking at the Gym in question, so did I! ("alright mate, yeah we work at M&S are we alright to jus go in?")

After one lazy post-work/pre-pub session we decided to relax in the sauna for a bit, only to find it already inhabited by one (now mentally deranged) Gazza ("Soccerball" legend around these parts for Merkin readers). He appeared to be messing about with his towel in the attempts to hastily hide something - after a few seconds fumbling he turned to us and said...

"you dont mind do you lads?"

Both slightly star-struck we both just mumbled "nah" in reply wondering what it was we were supposed to mind. It was at that point Gazza stood up, dropped his towel to the floor and sat back down stark bollock naked, stretched his legs out and his arms behind his back and let out a contented sigh.
( Mister B is eating an icanhazcheezburger with lmaonaise, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 22:21, 2 replies)

This was my second week...
...at a new gym, with an eagerly athletic (and incredibly patronising when it came to fitness) new bloke in tow. I was desperately trying to give off the impression that I knew what I was doing and that I, too, was a super-fit gym-bunny (and not a student layabout whose only exercise came from pushing her luck!). Therefore, dressed to impress (or so I thought at the time) in full make-up and skin-tight lycra (I must have looked like a total twat), I clambered aboard the treadmill next to his. Warming up quickly, I glanced over at his settings and notched my speed up to out-do him. The pace was fast and I was just about handling it. He looked over at me and, smiling, notched his machine up another couple of mph. I matched him, breathless, red-faced and sweating, concentrating hard, very hard, to keep my legs moving quickly enough....

....Until a hair grip flew out of my hair and I, with a gut reaction, turned around to grab it, flew off the machine, face-planted the wall behind and slunk out of the room in shame (and pain!) to the applause and raucous laughter of the entire room.

Once I had stopped bleeding and he had stopped laughing, we had words and joint gym-time ceased. These days neither of us bother, he's gained a few stone thanks to a lazy desk job. I'm eating a rhubarb pie as i type! Gyms are dangerous, expensive and humiliating- just go outside!
(Bob Frapples is de-lurking on, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 22:20, Reply)

i like swimming
but fuck me, swimming lengths is dull. so in a fit of inspiration, i bought myself a waterproof ipod case, which comes with waterproof earphones, genius.

the only problem is, every time i wear it to go swimming ( so about once a year, then ), people think it's an open invitation to stop me and talk about it.

why? why?? why would you see someone thrashing around in the water, submerged in it and clearly busy, with an ipod on to boot, and think, oooh yes, there's someone who'd love to be interrupted for some inane conversation? twats!
( rachelswipe with a fork, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 22:14, 7 replies)

Disenchantment and nudity, Part 2
Part 2 - Nudity (Skipped straight here? You dirty, dirty bugger!)

Okay, so formal, coin-op exercise and I had long since parted company but in a fit of weakness I purchased a pair of running shoes and they lay in the corner of the room, box fresh, grating on my conscience. Eventually I snapped and, having just a little bit of trouble bending over to lace them up properly because of my new gut, decided that a jog round the park was in order, just as soon as I had put together a motivational mix for the iPod. Oops, it’s now dark, better have a beer and make a real start tomorrow.

Next day, shoes, socks, shorts, tee shirt, motivational mix loaded and go go go!

My local park is excellent. People use it for running, cycle through it, teens hang out, there’s a bowls club, cricket and footie and all of park civilization. It’s also very pretty, with flower beds, wild flowers, mature trees and proper box hedges. There’s also the occasional park building, used to keep tools, seeds and probably a parkie’s still and porn stash, set back among the hedges.

By the time I’m trotting my lardy sweaty arse round the park, the light is starting to fade. All the fit healthy folk have long since finished their jog and are now sitting looking disconsolately at a salad and wishing they were getting outside of twelve pints of stella and a curry instead.

Anyhoo, I’m trotting along when I notice, on the path up ahead, standing by a hedge, a bloke. Fair enough. Standing next to him is a bloke with a camera. Fair enough, two local photo club saddos, out in the park, farting around with exposure and taking photos of box.

And indeed they were. As I panted past I could see that the thick, almost solid box hedge had a gap, a gateway to a park building; but in the gap and in front of the gate, invisible to all but the photographer, was a woman in an overcoat, drawing it together.

Odd sort of fashion shoot, I thought, as I panted past.

Realisation came at the point in my run when I am furthest from home. It had all the hallmarks of some filthy armature pron shoot from the ‘I like to expose myself in public’ range. Naturally I was disgusted at the thought of the park being used in this way, even more so because I knew there was bugger all chance of getting back there in time to see a real live pron shoot. Worst of all, my imagination went into overtime and I found myself trying to hobble/jog with what can only be described as a tiny meat metronome in my shorts.

Pron shoots, just another benefit of ditching the gym for the great outdoors.

Pictures or it didn’t happen? Just google: nude outdoor female flasher raincoat park and see what images get thrown up. Bloody hundreds, she must be in there somewhere. There are so many it’s a wonder you can throw a bloody Frisbee in a park without hitting some exhibitionist.
(Macnabbs may contain traces of exaggeration on, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 22:06, Reply)

Disenchantment and nudity, Part 1
Part 1 – Disenchantment (If you want the nudity, skip to my second post).

I was an early morning gymer. Six thirty…excuse me; six fucking thirty in the morning and I’d be there, knowing that if I didn’t go then, I’d never go. Christ I hate morning people; the receptionists especially who were either as miserable as I was, or annoyingly chirpy. Let’s face it, it was fucking dark out and I was about to exercise, nobody could do a thing right.

Actually it wasn’t that bad. By swimming I could effectively avoid exercise as the pool was so small I could simply float and be washed from end to end by the turbulence from the fit types. It was when I moved into the gym that things started to go wrong or, to be more precise, when I shared the gym with the spinning class.

Now I thought that the spinning class sounded like a hoot, imagining it involving hula hoops or something charming. No. What it actually is is the only exercise more bloody pointless than a bloody ‘exercise bike’, it’s a lot of people riding exercise bikes at a speed that, if applied in the real world, would propel them along like one of those light cycles from Tron.

So you have a semi-circle of exercise bikes, all facing the leader’s bike, who faces them. Fair enough. The crap drum and bass piped through the gym is then turned off. Fair enough, I’m listening to my iPod anyway. Then the spinning class music starts at festival volume, only to be exceeded by the motivational screamings of the instructoress who, in an effort not to destroy her vocal chords, is using a headset microphone and so amplifying her voice to a level that I actually consider to be weapons grade decibels.

I’ve got my iPod tured up so high to try and drown it out that I’m fairly certain that blood is going to start coming out of my ears at any second, but even Kylie can’t compete with some crazed bitch screaming ‘COME ON!’ to her acolytes.

That was it for me. A bike should have a basket, a charming bell and a girl riding it with her skirt tucked into her knickers, it should not be bolted to the floor and be facing the terminator lycrabitch 9000 model. Cancelled me membership and set course for free exercise…and unexpected pron!
(Macnabbs may contain traces of exaggeration on, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 22:06, Reply)

I would, but.....
I used to work in a set of offices which had it's own small, on-site gym situated on the floor below my place of work. It charged 50p a session (a session being as long as you like).

But I didn't use it because it was a bit expensive and not right convenient......
(Colonel Blink is now officially a pretentious prick, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 21:49, Reply)

Never train with your wife
I used to go to quite a posh gym with her indoors. She would do an hour or so on the cardio stuff and some weights machines.

I would do half an hour on the cross trainer watching the fit chinese bird in lycra with a thong on the stepper in front of me. Then I would do some free weights.

"Can I try the free weights" she asks one night.

Cue me taking her down to the "blokes end" of the gym. Knowing looks from all the other guys and a quick "sorry guys" look from me.

Got her comfy on the bench press, took up spotter position, standing with a leg either side of her head. She's only little and not very strong so I was being careful.

She lifted the bar with no weight on just to get the feel of it. Whilst I made sure I had a tight hold of it just in case.

I forgot to mention I was wearing shorts with the built in mesh pants.

"Eww, I can see your willy" said she...

Much sniggering was heard from the blokes who were all watching her.

At this moment my Tourettes Conscience sprang to life and before I could stop myself...

"Oh shut up you've had it in your mouth often enough".

She turned bright red and was never to be seen again down the "blokes end".
(Yellow Car is now red, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 20:30, Reply)

I've given up on gyms
They just lead to misery and woh for me.

I started pub manager training after leaving college. Living in a pub 24/7 took a toll on what used to be a very fit and active body. Free food, free beer and 30 a day Marlboro habit made me a bit portly.

Gym 1 - 1997. Have decided I want to be a copper and save being a pub manager for when I retire. I decide to join a gym to get fitness level up for test. My introduction session was carried out by the stunning, lycra clad, Rachel. I tucked in my gut, pretended that joining a gym was an every day occurrence to me and generally try to be cool in front of Rachel. Cycling machine was fine. Cross Trainer was fine. Stairthingy was fine. 30 pull-ups on one of those machines that helps you a bit, not fine. In fact I felt dizzy. My blood was pounding in my ears and it felt as though my face was going to pop. I asked Rachel if I could grab one of those silly cones of water and have a quick rest. I sat down with my cone of water and promptly feinted backward of the bench. I retired to the dressing room in shame and never returned.

Gym 2 - 2003: I didn't actually attend this gym, but my gf at the time did. I was amazed that she would go 6 nights a week and then come home and shag me silly. Turns out she was fitter than I thought, because she was going to the gym, shagging her ex-boyfriend (who went to the same gym) and was them coming home and shagging me silly. I think it was when I found this out that I took on an almost fanatical hatred of gyms. Not exercise, just gyms.

Gym 3 - 2007: The now ex, Mrs Smurf decided she was joining a gym in January 2007 as a new years resolution. What's my first thought on this? "Shit. She's going to meet someone at the gym and shag them and then come home and shag me". Of course.

So I, despite grave, grace misgivings, joined with her. Ok, there was part of me that liked the idea of getting fit again as well. The first session was fine. The second session I suffered an AMAZING leg cramp whilst on the cycling machine. At home you would hop around screaming "FUCK, CRAMP CRAMP CRAMP FUCK!" but obviously at the gym you just try and style it out and hobble away, biting your tongue and essentially looking like Quasimodo's long lost brother. Within a few days my calf had gone rock solid. Not in the good 'developing tone' solid, but in the 'huge great blood clot in your leg' kinda solid. A few days after that I was diagnosed as having DVT. Now, I cannot strictly say that this was down to the damage caused by my exercising at the gym, but I'm fairly sure it is (although my pathological dislike of gyms might have aided my theory).

I returned to the same gym not long after I'd recovered and was off blood thinners. I had a reintroduction session and the trainer wanted to know more detail about what happened. I explained at length (the short version for you being part of clot broke off, travelled through heart and ended up in lungs leading to funny heart blips on an EKG, but entirely safe. Ish.) and proceeded with my reintroduction. Ex Smurfette is already pounding away on the running machine, so I go with the trainer to start some warm up stretches.

Now, I've always suffered with cramp in my chest muscles. Dunno why, I just do. The cramp will spread from mid-chest, around the side and across the back. It'll randomly happen even whilst I just sit here typing.

What happens in the middle of my stretches, on return from being rather poorly and having just told the trainer I have a slightly damaged heart (I did say it was cellular damage, but I don't think he understood the word)? Bastard cramp in my chest, on the left hand side.

So there I am, laying on the floor on my back. I'm gripping my chest, red in the face, unable to talk because of the constriction. You can't seem to stretch this cramp out, you just end up involuntary writhing and bucking, just trying to find one position where it'll stretch.

The next thing I know I'm being straddled by some pimply, muscle toting, bum fluff wearing, trainer who's now brandishing his fist in the air. My first thought is "What the fuck have I ever done to him"? When he starts saying "Remain calm and try to breathe", I realise he thinks I'm having a heart attack. And here I am lying underneath him, writhing and bucking. From behind it must have looked like he was maliciously making me dry hump him, in some strange, voyeuristic ritual.
I finally managed to squeek out "Get off me you cunt, it's just a cramp". But not until the embarrassment factor was too great for me to ever return to that gym.

Oh, and guess why Mrs Smurf is now ex Mrs Smurf. Yep. You guessed it.

And going back to my second paragraph, a girl said to me today that I looked like Al Murray, but prettier. Is that a good thing?!

Apologies for length, I'm stoned and rambly.
(Big Smurf Brush me daddy-O, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 19:10, 1 reply)

Going to the gym with a couple of female friends
One of them turns to me and asks: "Do you think Julie's a dirty blonde?"

I had to think about this for a few seconds. These were work colleagues - not the sort of question I expected to hear. So, naturally I replied: "Depends whether she takes it up the shitbox, I suppose."

My friends both froze. The one who spoke replied icily: "I was refering to Julie's hair colour; personally I'd say she's more a strawberry blonde."
( SpankyHanky, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 17:30, 1 reply)

Epic Gym Fail
First post! woot!

This is still one of the most embarrassing things ever to happen to me. Strangely enough, it doesn't involve the loss of bodily functions or drunken twattery.

So, a few years ago I decided to join a gym. Now, I'm quite tall but skinny. Lanky, if you will. The idea was I would try to bulk up a little to stop looking like the 10 stone weakling I clearly was. I've since got bigger using the beer method.

I met with the trainer, who had muscles in places where I don't even have places and started the work out. Being surrounded by blokes casually lifting more than their own bodyweight I thought I'd better make an effort and really push myself. So I did. And all was going according to plan,until after an hour or so when the increasingly knackered Atomised got to the last obstacle: The bench press.

He gave me a quick demo on the free weights and then I lay down to have a go myself. I thought I'd better not exert myself with too much weight whilst I was still learning the technique, but even so, when I lowered the bar onto my chest, that was it. My arms gave way and and I couldn't lift the bar back up again.

The trainer and a couple of other muscle bound freaks saw me squirming under bar and ambled over to pluck it off me, the mirth dancing in their eyes.

But why is this such an epic fail? Surely there is no dishonour in failing such a herculean task?

Because, my fellow b3tans, there were no weights.
I failed to lift the bar.

Oh, the shame.

Length? about 5 foot of shiny steel...
(Atomised teabagged your mum on, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 16:56, 13 replies)

Tried a gym, was boring and shit but tied in for a year.
Now I go here, so much fucking better and isn't full of gentlemen the size of busses with anger issues:-
www.durhamclimbingcentre.co.uk/
(Vikingheadache, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 16:43, 2 replies)

Crazy people
Mm, student gyms are fun. No seriously they really are fun... A few good and bad things.

Good.
- There would be the fact that I've not paid membership at my gym for the last 11 months, yet no one has pointed this out to me.
- The gym staff are so damn good looking it's all you can do to keep your hands to yourself when they're spotting you.
- The gym when quiet is actually rather well kitted out and the staff are helpful and friendly.

Bad.
- Fucking chavs and a curse of Asian "buff" boys, now don't get me wrong. I don't have a racist bone in my body however there is this segement of the Asian male 18-25 demographic whose entire gym experience centres around picking up the heaviest weight possible. Doing 20 reps in 2 seconds, throwing weights down and flexing. The chavs do the same but are more vocal about calling each other "cunts" when the weight lands on their toes...
- Further to this, the muscle heads who complain of aching tendons, legs and arms with the Chav/Asian boy population. Here I am lifting my 12kg bar bells slowly and with control and guess what? My arms don't hurt! I've not jerked my tendons off at ends... If your body is hurting to the extent that you need to take painkillers and the doctor recommends you cut down the weights, there might be something said for being responsible and monitoring your weights... Slow & Controlled is much better than Fast & Irresponsible.
- Skinny "birds", I understand it's the current fashion for women to be thin, however if I can pick you up with one hand, fold you up into my wallet and bring you out at parties for a party trick odds are... You're a little too thin... Your body, your choice but please think of the rest of us poor mugs who want to use the machine you've just spent the last 30 minutes on doing minimal reps and weights with 10 minute breaks inbetween.
- Aggressive personal trainers for luck of any other words **PISS. ME. OFF**. Yes, I appreciate the help you've given me, yes I appreciate that you give good rates. Oh really, no I didn't know you were in the army, no I don't know that you were the cheapest trainer here. Oh, yeah I come here a lot also to exercise, by myself. Go away. I have a personal trainer who works with me to my level of fitness, not yours.

In saying that, I do enjoy the gym when it's not busy. My week thanks to my trainer involves the gym 2-5 times a week with a mix of CV and free weights/machines, jujitsu 3/4 times a week followed by about 10 odd miles on the bike 2/3 times a week and considering the difference it's made on my body I'm eternally grateful to those great personal trainers who take into consideration your personal preferences and limits however those basturds who can't and won't...

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr
(Helo, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 16:01, 1 reply)

I've never joined a Gym
But me and a mate got a free two week trial at our local fitness first. Not being one for exercise we decided to sit in the pool and wearing as many layers of clothes as possible and seeing who could with stand the heat of the steam room.
In hindsight it was a bit of a waste
(NuffMuff fucks shrubbery, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 15:26, Reply)

Incredible shrinking man

when I joined a gym and I used to regularly go (ie the 1st year) there was a guy who was there everyday.

He was HUGE not muscles, fat. Like Mr Creosote an enormous wobbly pie eating fatty. He was on one of the treadmills walking at about 3mph sweating like an enormous fat bastard on a treadmill.

Whenever I went to the gym he could be found, headphones on, plodding on his treadmill. But the months passed I noticed mr Blobby was going faster and faster and getting thinner and thinner. Just before I stopped going he was nearly normal sized.

So they do work ;oP
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 14:46, 5 replies)

Yesterday...
... I cancelled my Fatness First subscription.

"Can I ask you why?" said the membership person.
"I've found somewhere cooler, cleaner, quieter, cheaper and closer to the office," I said. I'd been rehearsing the list, and was quite proud of the repeated "k" sound.
She was pretty unruffled. "Yep. That'd do it," she sighed, with the knowledge that she works for a band of crooks.


How can I have lived in Manchester for 2 years without twigging that the Commonwealth Aquatics Centre has a gym, that it's two minutes from the office, and that membership is subsidised for University staff?
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 14:45, 6 replies)

Im not a gym goer by any account
Hate the places, remind me too much of exercise...

But whilst at Uni in my second year, my walk to campus went strait past the newly refurbished university Gime. It was almost completely glass fronted and I can only imagine had a mirror effect on the inside.

Every time I walked past it (not many to be fair) I was confronted with around 4 or 5 meatheads gurning their faces off in front of these windows, checking out their 'awsome delts' or whatever it was.

I could never quite surpress my giggles at these neanderthal men, is this a common occurance? Or is it confined to Reading Uni?
(Is this a good idea? ... Yes this is definitely a good idea, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 14:35, Reply)

The strange girl
Driving through torrential rain one night, I tried to keep my eyes focused on the road. It was hard work. The surface water was pooling and it was like trying to drive across the surface of a lake. I had to keep a tight grip on the steering wheel, the wipers on hi-speed, as I peered out into the slowly descending gloom. Then I saw a girl at the side of the road with her thumb upraised more in hope than expectation. She was soaking wet. She was only wearing a thin jumper and her long dark hair was bedraggled and hung like dead limp snakes down across her oval face. I drove past, slowed, and came to a stop. I put the hazzards on and reached over to open the passenger door. I glanced in my rearview mirror – I couldn’t see the girl. But then, after a moment, she appeared by the side of my car. She stooped and slid effortlessly into the passenger seat. She said: “Thanks!” And I suddenly felt like the nicest man in the world.

I set off, I asked her where she wanted to go. And she replied: “Anywhere. I don’t mind.” I explained I was driving to Oxford and she said: “That’ll do fine.” I could see she was shivering. She was cold, soaked to the bone, so I turned up the heating and explained there was a travel blanket on the back seat, she was welcome to dry herself with it. She thanked me and reached over, and in doing so her hand stroked my shoulder. And it was freezing cold. So cold I felt a strange tingle spread from that point down my arm and across my chest. It was like a sudden and violent internal frost in my body.

I physically jumped. She was startled too. She apologised for touching me and explained she’d been on the road for quite some time. I glanced over at her. She was so pale, so incredibly pale. I asked if she felt ok, and she nodded curtly. “As good as can be expected.”

After half and hour or so we reached Oxford city centre. I didn’t want to sound sleezy, but I asked if she’d like to come round to my place to get warmed up. She said: “No thank you – you can drop me here,” and I pulled over, she opened the door and went to leave. But before she went she reached out and grabbed my hand. Again, the terrible cold. Then without a word, she left, closing the door quietly behind her. And as I drove off I checked my rearview; the girl was nowhere to be seen. She’d gone. Vanished.

Later, when I returned to my house, I opened the front door and found the local paper on the mat. I picked it up – and there – framed by adverts for this and that - was a familiar, oval shaped face on the front page. A young woman. The headline read: Twenty years ago today, Emily Young was hit by a car and killed on the A34, her family remembers, service held today in Oxford.

My god! I thought. I just couldn’t believe it. I scanned the front page again. Shaking, I went to the phone and called my best friend, Simon. He answered and I said, with a quivery voice: “Simon, have you seen todays Oxford Mail? You’re not going to beleive this,” I clutched the paper, scanned it again, read it over and over, “they’ve got an advert on the front page for Fitness First – free membership for a month!”

Simon was elated. So was I. We both like going to the gym.
(Pastabator earned his brown wings with your girlfriend on, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 14:34, 8 replies)

Gyms are boring, plus the death
I have never been able to stick with going to the gym. I just got so bored so I didn't last long.

Plus there was that time a guy died.

I was on the treadmill realising how boring running on the spot is when I noticed that a white curtain had been put up around one of the machines and there were a lot of worried looking staff running around. Then an ambulance arrived, and a gurney carrying the inert body of a man exited out of the fire doors.

Turned out that he had pretty much died on the spot while doing weight pulls. I wondered if he had decided to join the gym to become healthier and thus live longer?

The irony was not lost on me and I haven't been near a gym since. Thanks for giving my lazy arse an excuse dead man! When I look at my lovely pot belly I'll always think of you.
(stubbledchin, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 14:29, 2 replies)

Aqua aerobics
Years and years ago, my mate and I took a breather in the middle of our training session at the gym in our local leisure centre and went to watch an aqua aerobics class from the window that overlooked the pool.

We watched the lycra-clad bloke at the front dance around camply and directing the women in the pool to wave arms around and dance this way or that with their lower haves in the water.

All was going well until he had a phone call.

We couldn't hear through the glass but I guess it sounded a little like this: "and right ... right ... that's it wave those arms ... and right ... keep going girls ... and right [ring ring] oooh, hello ... yes, fine, blah blah blah"

Had he heard my mate and I laughing he might have noticed the huge pile-up of ladies at the side of the pool.
(BearWithLittleBrain, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 11:22, Reply)

Pubic announcement- Length versus steroids. Sorry if it's been mentioned already
Please keep this in mind if you are going to use steroids, if you are male, the size of your pudenda will shrink the more you use them.

However, if you are female, yours will enlarge, soon to resemble a small cock and balls.

My Question is this: Are there any hermaphrodites who can expound on this?

That is all.


Insert length joke here, then here and here. OOh, faster, deeper



Is it in yet?
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 11:04, Reply)

Anal with Frank
Before middle age set in I used to play rugby and was pretty fit. But I stopped going to the gym after a bloody awful incident that I’ll probably be talking about in therapy for years. I’d just done a weight session, had a quick shower, and was laying face down on a gurney stark bollock naked with a towel covering my modesty, waiting to have a warm down massage (just the normal routine, and it was a proper massage place, not one of those dodgy backstreet places where you get a blowjob from a fifteen year old Lithuanian). The man who did the massaging was Frank. He oiled me up and started on my shoulders, smoothing out the tension, making me feel relaxed.

Frank moved onto my lower back, my body made a series of lovely clunking noises. Then Frank started on the back of my thighs. As this whole experience was more than slightly homoerotic I made a point of talking about manly stuff, like cars and football, and shagging women.

Then, as Frank was busy kneading the top of my thighs, his hands all oily and slippery, I sneezed really violently, my arse shot backwards, and Frank’s thumb lodged firmly up my brown bullet wound like a cork going back into a bottle. I let out a scream, so did Frank. Frank attempted to remove his thumb from my arsehole but because I was suddenly (and not very fucking suprisingly) tense, I sort of clamped tight round his probing digit. Frank’s thumb was stuck! I howled in agony. Eventually Frank came free and, panting, I rolled onto my front, the towel now tossed aside. And I realised Frank was gazing in fear at my willy. I looked down. I was harder than set concrete. And pre cum was gurgling out of me like someone had turned on a tap. Frank must’ve tickled or applied pressure to my prostate. And all he said was: “You’ll be wanting some tissues for that.”

And I’ve never been to a gym since.
(Big Grant, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 10:08, 20 replies)

Home gym
I used to go to the gym until I realised that the amount of money I was spending on going and using several cardio machines would be better spent buying those machines.

I was spending nearly £100 per month for Mrs BDI and myself to indulge in rubbish music and queues for machines.

Admittedly you need room for the machines, but you don't have the excuse for no time as they are sat at home. Decent running machine costs roughly £1000 which is only 10 months gym and decent excercise bike from about £300.

*POP* ouch, relurks
(TheBDI is watching you..., Tue 14 Jul 2009, 10:03, 3 replies)