b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » Gyms » Page 7 | Search
This is a question Gyms

Getting fit should come with a health warning, warns PJM. "In my pursuit of the body beautiful, I've broken three exercise bikes and two running machines, concussed myself and, most distressingly, bruised my testicles." And he's yet to try and get out of his contract...

(, Thu 9 Jul 2009, 13:45)
Pages: Popular, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

I always grab a sauna after a workout. The open pore, get rid of the sweat thingy.
I often go for one after a nights boozing, it does tend to sweat the crap out of you. Not sure if it's psychological, but you do tend to feel better after a sauna and cold shower.
What creeps me out is guys having a naked sauna; at our gym times are staggered, one hour guys and the next hour girls. I always wear shorts, but a couple of guys insist on the nekkid thing. Having a sweaty cock flapping round near my face is pretty revolting. I always sit on a towel now, as God only knows what state the seats are left in.
That is all.
(, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 9:33, 2 replies)
Social Circles
I haven’t seen this mentioned on here yet, so I figured this was something worth telling. Has anyone else noticed that gyms tend to have their own micro-community, kind of like a small village or local pub? I joined my gym in November and was kindly shown around by a staff member to orient myself on my first day.

About half an hour in I had finished with the cardio equipment and moved on to weights. You know that awkward exchange of looks when you approach something at exactly the same time as someone else, and you try to figure out who gets their way first? This happened between me and some burly looking bloke. He looked at me, took a swig from his water bottle and began to frown.
“You’re new here.” It wasn’t a question. I began to wonder where this was going – had I committed some kind of gym-folk faux-pas? Perhaps he was just pointing out that I was round in the middle and skinny in the limbs. Bastard. But I couldn’t say that to his face.
“Yeah. First day.” I said, wondering why I was bothering with this exchange when I could have just used a different machine. Surprisingly, he smiled and introduced himself. He nodded toward the machine and told me to take my time, and to take it easy. “Oh, you work here?” I asked. I remember him laughing, shaking his head and telling me he was an accountant. I was a little weirded out by this (that he was a friendly gym-goer, not that he was an accountant) but quickly learnt that this place was actually pretty social and most regulars either knew each other by name, if not by face.

Over the next couple of months I became familiar with most of the “evening crowd” – those that finish work around 7ish and want to work out before heading home. One thing I had never expected when I joined was how much networking went on in this place, both socially and commercially. In the first month I was there I had found out two couples had started dating, one member gave another a job and if I wanted a travel agent that would cut me a discount I should talk to someone called Linda who could usually be found on the cardio equipment, etc. Before I knew it I actually enjoyed going to the gym to hang out with others. I wasn’t a very social person at the best of times so it was good to regularly see people I got along with. The fitness was a bonus.

Thing is, every community has its douchebag, the individual universally regarded as a weed in anyone’s garden of friends. It wasn’t that he lacked gym etiquette or behaved awkwardly in the changing rooms. No, this was much more subtle. This was the kind of guy that has to one-up everyone, the wanker that would claim he had a fiveskin if someone else said they had a foreskin. The subject of an inferiority complex dealt with by pretending to be the best at everything.

You know the type.

Now imagine that this guy wanted to single you out. Perhaps this story would have belonged in the bullying QOTW for all the little jabs he’d have at my expense. Now, I could handle bullying. Ignoring people like that becomes an art form when you’ve dealt with it through school, and I was 23 at the time. No, the difficult part was the unexplained vendetta he seemed to have against me. Imagine that someone you know is telling your friends that you’ve been backstabbing the very people that welcomed you to your social circle. Not nice. Remember how I mentioned Linda above? I went to organize a trip to Australia for me and my girlfriend and figured I’d talk to Linda about it. Turns out she didn’t want anything to do with me and told me between breaths (she was on the treadmill) that I had “one helluva nerve to come to her.”

Naturally I hadn’t seen this coming and my attempts at ascertaining what her problem was were going ignored. I asked someone else about why she was so pissed at me. I eventually found out Linda had been told by the gym dickhead (named Dave) that I had collided with the manager’s car in the car park and blamed her for it. Yes, it sounds like a watered-down TV drama but in real life these things matter, God damn it.

I confronted Linda and pointed out that I not only jogged to the gym but it wasn’t exactly in my nature to say stuff about other people like that. When I later found out that Dave was responsible I made a point of telling the gym gossip-queens about his behavior towards me (the most efficient way to spread any news).

Not everyone believed a grown man could be such a child til they paid attention to him when he talked to me. Some even tried talking to him about his behaviour but he vehemently denied any wrongdoing. Word eventually got around about Dave, but really there was no way to deal with him. He paid gym fees so he could come whenever he wanted. But nobody had to be his friend.

Though the gym itself was one of those massive international chain affairs the evening crowd was fairly small. Soon Dave wasn’t included in conversations; chats would end quickly upon his approach. He could tell what was going on. He must have. Eventually he took to bringing his iPod to the gym and kept it on the entire time he was there. He was being shunned, and though I figured he deserved it I couldn’t help but pity the twat.

Given he was in purgatory for his own actions there was little I could do. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said too much to the gym-folk, but I couldn’t unring a bell and decided to leave him be. Eventually he would stop turning up in the evenings at all. Last I heard the staff had noticed him bothering the lunch crowd.

Just comes to show that even adults can act like kids in the playground, can’t they? Perhaps so-called "playground politics" and the kids involved are just caricatures of adults in the real world.
(, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 1:37, 3 replies)
my family should be banned from gyms.
I am not a sporty type of person, and i have always been accident prone. However my family are just as bad. My eldest brother twisted his ankle on a tread mill, thus falling off the side. I once jumped onto a tread mill, (and unbeknown to me) the tread mill was still on. I went flying off the end, smashing into a glass window behind me. However my middle brother takes the biscuit. He sat on a gym ball and it exploded under his weight. Everyone stopped to stare at him, and laugh. Poor boy, time for a diet me thinks
(, Tue 14 Jul 2009, 0:51, Reply)
Swimming... well, it's in the same building as the Gym!
Now, I'm bit of a fatty. One of those guys you see on the news with the "Obese" stamp in red letters across the front of them. Recently though I've decided to do my best to put an end to this distressing condition which irks me mostly not for the sly looks or the "whispered" comments, but because I'm tired of feeling unfit and crap about myself.

Anyhoo, as a part of this, I'm doing my damnedest to go swimming each morning before work. Started 4 weeks ago and now I do the maritime version of plodding my way through 60 lengths. It was hard work etc, but frankly it's the least I deserve, and the sense of accomplishment is warm, as you feel more and more fit :)

The other morning, I was doing the usual routine of getting changed, donning the visage of awkward self awareness and making my way out to the pool for my pre swim shower when I spied another young fellow - somewhat thinner than me, of course - giving me the "you're another one of those fat bastard scum aren't you?" smirk, which you may or may not have seen in action.

I ignore him and continue to the pool to start my swim. Obviously Captain Fantastic has to take the lane next to me, throwing me the odd glance as I swim along. He's going to show me how much fitter than me he is, I can see this now. 1 length goes by, 5, then 10 and 20. It was by the 30th length that I saw the first look of worry on his face... He might actually only just beat me! Still I carry on, safe in my now routine stroke (we don't hear the innocent version of that here very often do we?... anyhoo...).

By length 50 our friend was starting to shake, clearly far further than he has swum in a very long time, and at length 53, he stops and gets out of the pool - presumably so he can start to breathe out of his arse as his body complains and shakes. He stumbles his way back into the changing area, to get away from what just happened.

Long story short, he left the pool a broken man, beaten by a simple case of underestimation. The guy who he wanted to swim me into another of the humiliating defeats I've become somewhat used to in life actually had his arse handed back to him by his prey.

That was the first time I've felt good about what I can do in a long time :) It's definitely helped drag me out of bed in the mornings since, more determined than ever to feel good about myself some more - it's an addictive feeling.

First post etc, but this time it actually was the length(s) that mattered.
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 22:55, 15 replies)
You Bastards
I now have a huge inferiority complex and can feel my spare tyre laughing at me. I'm going to do some exercise.

Lucky for me my workplace has a free gym :)
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 21:29, Reply)
Aaaaaaaaaaand breathe...
My fitness centre place is attached a big city centre hotel in Edinburgh which attracts business travellers and tourists ... there are two problems with this:

1. Sorry, don't want to appear anti-American but American businessmen who get on non-adjacent treadmills then conduct a LOUD conversation across the space and often across the people in between them. No. Manners. At. All. "Did ya get the figures Bob?" "Sure did Jake!" "Don't ya think the locals are kinda funny?" "Fuck yeah..." Etc.

2. Self righteous parents on weekend breaks in the swimming pool with their darling kids DOING BREADTHS. I mean, come on. The pool's small enough, all I'm asking is that you keep to *one side of it*. If I head-butted your kid while I was doing front crawl you'll go apeshit but you see people coming in for exercise and you simply don't give a fuck.

3. Uncontrolled kids wandering all over the pool while mummy (wearing outdoors shoes and trailing all kinds of shit over the pool area) reads her Chat magazine. The kids are screaming of course and people as far away as Glasgow have bleeding ears.

4. Dumb arse wankers in the changing room who don't bother taking their towel to the shower area. Result? They makes puddles all over the fucking floor when they come to get their towel. Then you open your locker and your pants fall into their fekkin puddle.

5. Men shaving naked in front of the washhand basins. WTF?
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 19:17, 2 replies)
Gyms and driving not good
On one of my delivery runs to a customer on the south coast, you have to drive past a gym which at 08:30 in the morning is fully of extremely fit totty giving it what for on treadmills, when I drive past every slowly in my 7 and a half tonner looks like your trying to avoid scraping parked cars so no funny looks.
One morning I had slowed down to a crawl and was admiring a fine looking young woman with the most amazing and jiggly norks I had ever seen next thing I know I have driven right up the arse end of a parked BT van never saw it gyms pah!!!!!
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 17:13, Reply)
I'm not one to brag.
But this one time I had trouble lifting my dumbbells up and over my fantastic shoulders due to being up all the previous night shagging page 3 girls from all over.
Mr T. Then a friend of mine walked over and pitied my fool or something along those lines, and I'm sure he muttered "you puff" under his breath as he walked off with Sylvester Stallone from the Rocky movies.
I saw red, put down my dumbbells and chased after Mr T. He ran off because I look well hard right, and I ended up catching him in the car park due to my athletic prowess and speed on foot, I once ran down a bear.
I punched Mr T like ten times in the face and cheeks and he was all like "crying" and I was all like "well, whatever Mr T" and Rocky was all like "He's well hard him" and I was like "I know" and then I went back to the gym to work on my killer legs from lifting up drug dealers cars and stuff.
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 17:13, 9 replies)
Gym quitting
Id been a member of a local gym for some time, but I never went. I tried to quit; they brought out Maria, a lycra spandex covered gym…treat. So then I tried to cut them off at the source (my direct debit at the bank...). I took a friend with me for support. And somehow, we ended up with a joint checking account.

(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 15:51, 5 replies)
My most intense ever workout
When I was in my early twenties I used to be a tubby bitch. Sit me on the floor cross-legged and you’d have a pretty good representation of Buddah (only with a bigger cock). Things came to ahead when my dear old dad bought me a pressie for my birthday and had it delivered to my house with a note. The present was an exercise bike and the note said simply: You are fat Cheers, dad.

So I spent the next few days getting to grips with the damn machine. It took alot of sweat, blood, tears, and tantrums – moments where I wanted to give up and go and have a Big Mac – but eventually I got the fucker out of the box. Then, after a few more days my chimp-like assembly skills meant I had the damn thing up and looking like an exercise bike.

Then I put on the instructional video, got into my brand new exercise gear (I looked like someone out of Goldie Lookin’ Chain), and settled down to do some serious, hard fat burning. The video started, and the lithe young Lycra’d godess on screen started doing some pulling and stretching excersises...

...and I started doing some pulling exercises of my own. On my cock. This girl was seriously, seriously hot and I knew I’d have to get a wank out the way before I could concentrate on what she was actually saying. So, I’m sat astride the bike, grunting and sweating, building up a head of steam, nearing the point of no return –

And I hear the front door open. Shit! And in my excitement I feel my cock start to gush. Shit! Quickly, I cup my right hand round my bell end and manage to catch the spunky flow, no time to clean up properly, I slip my jogging bottoms over my throbbing love muscle and try my best to hide my cupped hand, my palm gently cradling a nice healthy, gloopy dollop of man batter.

The living room door opens, in walks the Witch of the North (my uber-evil ex girlfriend)... and some other girl I’ve never seen before. A mate from work. The ex says hello and introduces her friend. The friend then does something awful, terrible, absolutely bollock-churningly hideous...

...she holds out her hand for me to shake. Awkwardly, I reach out with my other non-spunky hand. This stranger in my living room looks a bit put out. That’s when I notice she’s got her fucking arm in a sling. Shit! She can only shake hands with my evil cum paw! How dare this fucker be disabled in any way shape or form? Arggggghhhhh!!! So, I quickly wipe the cum on my arse and, gingerly, hold out my hand.

She grasps it. Gives it a firm shake, and says: “Oooh, sticky....” SHIT!!! “You must’ve been working out for awhile already.” And she wanders off to chat with the evil ex.

And – I have to say – my heart rate was through the fucking roof for the next twenty minutes. Hoping, praying, wishing... that she didn’t lift her hand up to her nose and give it a nice, hearty sniff....
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 15:47, 5 replies)
Exercise! Crippled! Spazzy! Sued!
Gyms and I have never got along.

I've tried to be fit and healthy, but I'm naturally accustomed to being a lazy bastard. The only exercise I ever really did was football and tennis as a teen, until injuries stopped me. I supplanted this with dancing and cycling until other body parts broke.

I recently finished a stint in rehab, and came out sober, energetic and lusting for a trim body like the one I used to possess. So I joined a gym.

I swam nightly, struggled through the pain barrier, and then went for my induction/exercise programme.
It did not go well. I have shattered both wrists; they are consequently filled with metal, slightly arthritic (although I can still wank, thank God) and somewhat feeble. Both my knees constantly hyper-extend, and the slightest twist can result in a dislocation of the knee-cap. I also have torn ligaments in my left knee once and right knee three times.

After a brief demonstration of all the equipment (including walkers) I was advised not to do anything other than use the pool. But not to swim. Instead, for my £53 per month, I was allowed to hold a float out and gently paddle from end to end.

Obviously, as a thirty year old man with a profession, responsibilities and many and varied swimming badges, I am not too keen on looking like a 'tard. Therefore I suggested that I cancel my membership. This was met with head shakes and frowns. I told them to fuck off (diplomacy not being my strong point) and that I expected them to cancel the contract.

Upshot is, they're suing me. It's only £500, but they can bollocks.

I now reside in my lovely new house watching my lovely new sky package. If I'm not in the pub. Or working stupidly hard and taking calls at 2am. Often it's a combination. But basically, it doesn't involve the gym.
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 15:40, 3 replies)
Sub-aqua flasher
My local municipal swimming pool is a fair sized affair and as such is usually cordoned off into three zones, one for the speedier types, one for the plodders and one for the practically clinically dead/morbidly obese.

That’s the theory anyway, the reality is that it’s packed with blokes aged between thirteen and twenty three all thinking “best get in the fast lane, ‘cos I’m really quick innit”, and thrashing around wildly for a solitary, breathless length holding everyone else up before they realise the futility of their efforts and retire to the end of the pool preening and checking out the laydees, causing utter mayhem for anyone who wants to get past them.

After umpteen rage-filled Tuesday and Thursday nights trying to fight my way around these idiots, I opted to sneak in one lunchtime in the hope of actually getting a decent workout for a change. Not only did I have the fast lane to myself, but the pool was dead quiet. Perfect. I got my head down and swam, my goggles permanently kept just below the water's surface.

Twenty lengths in I looked up to see a couple of young women slowly lower themselves into the fast lane. They weren’t serious swimmers, given that one of them was wearing an impractically pale, pleated two-piece costume which was hardly the sort of thing a regular swimmer-type lass might wear. Sure enough once in the water they adopted a genteel, breast stroke as they plodded along. I didn’t give it a second thought; there was enough room to go around them so I carried on as normal. Two lengths later I’d caught up.

“Holy fuck!”

As I prepared to overtake, I was a tad shocked to be faced with an impromptu full-frontal breakfast view each time the unwitting lass kicked her legs, for her flimsy bikini bottoms flopped to one side and she rhythmically reverse-winked at me.

I quickly decided that I’d wait until such point as the unfortunate girl stopped for a rest before doing the gentlemanly thing and discreetly pointing out her wardrobe malfunction. Yes, upon reflection that would be absolutely the best thing to do…. But then I figured that she’d be mortified. So mortified in fact that she’d probably think I was some sort of pervert, would it not be better to leave her to it and not say anything at all?

I swam and pontificated for a brief moment, before there she was again, flashing plage-pudenda as she gracefully kicked her way along the lane. For twenty minutes I grappled with my conscience, failing whatsoever to find any sort of appropriate moral compromise that might salvage some dignity for either of us. In twenty minutes I passed her some ten times, such was the differential in speed, each occasion being treated to the type of view normally reserved for the most dwarven of gynaecologists.

I did the right thing and carried on regardless. I figured that both of us would be terminally embarrassed if I brought the submersed mimsy to anyone’s attention. Yep, the poor lass would definitely never recover from the shame, not so much from the knowledge that she was unintentionally flashing, but that she might be irreversibly shamed having been publically seen in possession of a lady-garden so unkempt it could stunt-double for the top of Leo Sayer’s head.
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 15:40, 11 replies)
Not a gripe...
More a query...

Why do women where trousers in th gym?

I can't think of anything more uncomfortable than a pair of jogging bottoms full of sweat and heat, yet they always wear trousers or leggings.

What's wrong with shorts?
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 15:25, 13 replies)
A very bad experience
A while back I found myself down on my luck. I’d lost my job, my home, and found myself living in a squat with a very strange man indeed. I was drifting, aimless, just didn’t see any point to my life anymore. It seemed that everything, and I mean everything, I’d been working for just didn’t seem to matter. Then my housemate introduced me to this underground gym he was running. It was a strange place, very physical, but it was pretty popular and grew in popularity over the next few months. I saw my puny, skinny little body transformed into something much harder. The workouts were physical, but the rewards were amazing – I actually started to feel alive again for the first time in a long long time.

Several of the members ended up moving into our house. They did the place up a bit, did a bit of gardening too, so I don’t suppose I minded that much. But I just had an uneasy feeling, a strange sense that things wern’t ok...

And unfortunately I was right. Turns out exercise and keeping fit can lead to bigger and more horrible things. Some people say I was mentally ill. Some people say I’m lucky to be alive after what happened. But either way, if you ever meet a fella named Tyler Durden, just kick him hard in the nuts and tell him to fuck off.
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 15:23, 1 reply)
Shame! Shame on you!
Back when I had spare time to burn, I managed to keep up a pretty regular gym attendance. I'd try to go when I had the chance during the week but would always make a point of going one weekend morning.

On one particular summer day I'd dragged myself out there in spite of a mild hangover, got changed and done my usual punishing sixty minutes in spite of the headache and the stifling heat.

By the time I was ready to go home it was lunchtime. After a gym session after the morning after the night before I was absolutely starving. What's more I was feeling pretty good about myself having managed to get to the gym and work out in the face of adversity and I thought I deserved a little treat. So when my short walk home took my past the best burger bar in town, I thought I'd go in and get my lunch from there.

Just after I'd handed over my cash, a complete stranger came in through the door and started wildly gesticulating and shouting at me. She was standing in the doorway - the only exit - and I was marginally frightened at first until it slowly dawned on my tired brain that she had seen me walk out of a gym and in to a fast-food joint and had been appalled enough by my behaviour to want to come and berate me for being such a slacker. "Shame! Shame on you!" she kept shouting, for a full minute, into the open mouthed shock of both me and the burger bar staff.

Then she walked off, shaking her head, and I finished my walk home and stuffed myself full of glorious saturated fats.
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 14:24, 2 replies)
I've never injured myself in a gym
but now seems like a good time to air a major grievance I've come up against at gyms over the years. Women. Women who go to the gym, get on the treadmill and then just walk. Why? Just why? Why are you paying money every month, to go to a gym 4 times a week just to have a good old walk??? Here's a tip, put on some shoes, open your front door and place one foot ahead of the other. Dadahhhh! You're walking! I mean seriously, if you don't want to go outside then you could walk around your apartment and save the money.
I can only imagine in the morning time, packing their gym bag, telling the flatmates/partners "I'll be home a bit late, i'm going to the gym after work". Then going from work to the gym, getting changed, doing some warming up and stretches and then hitting the treadmill for a good old walk. Then showering afterwards, going back home and saying "Wow, I am knackered from my workout!". Knackered??? Really???? From a 20 minute walk?
If I told my wife this - "I'm going for a short walk, a session on the step machine and colonic irrigation" she'd merely raise one eyebrow and say "You're going upstairs for a shit aren't you?".
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 13:45, 5 replies)
Women Only
I have frequented two gyms in my time, and both have the bizarre practice of having a "women only" session.

The first time I encountered this, was one Sunday evening in Yorkshire, I had gone into the gym and requested gym and sauna, they said fine, swiped my card, and all was well.

I spent about 20 minutes in the gym before an instructor (all gym instructors are cunts, it's a fact, don't argue that), came and told me that I had to leave as it was 'women only'. Sheepishly, I nodded and left, to go to the sauna, only to be told about 2 minutes into that, that I wasn't allowed in there either.

The second time this happened to me was at my current gym. I was doing some ridiculously heavy weights, sculpting my guns, I had done about a thousand reps, when a gym instructor, came and waved two fingers in my face. I had no clue what she was on about, so carried on listening to my music and ignoring her. Then she came back and shouted "2 minutes" at me, before saying, "actually only one now". I looked confused, and another guy asked what the hell she was on about.

"It's women only from 7, so you all need to leave". We left, no use arguing with cunts.

This brings me to my point (sorry for the preamble)... Why is there a women only time in gyms?

This is not me going to complain that there should be a men only time, and that this is sexist. I asked my girlfriend, and she said it was because women felt self-concious with loads of men around.


I feel self-concious when there are loads of men around with bigger muscles than me, as well. I also don't think having a women only session once a week will do anything. Will it mean any woman who is intimidated by the men will come then? If they go then, and are intimidated by the men at all other times, then they surely aren't getting much excercise.

Why not just leave the gym open to everyone, all the time? That's what I pay for.

...And breath...

Right, I'm off to flex my guns and drive around town posing in my Honda Accord...
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 12:56, 13 replies)
Everyone remembers the time...
I have a membership card to a country club in mid Wales and I was in the gym there. It's a holiday place and most people are out playing golf or tennis, plus the grounds are much nicer for exercising and walking dogs and so on than being cooped up. This means that the gym area is always empty. Instead of air conditioning there are french doors which are always kept open. I was doing some stretching on the yoga mats on my lonesome before I tackled some proper exercise. I was mid stretch with my leg on a big old squidgy exercise ball when it is shoved out of the way! I not-so-gracefully fall sideways, just in time to see the collie dog bounding out of the french doors with another exercise ball being pushed with his nose.

I was giggling too much to carry on after that.
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 12:31, Reply)
i am not any kind of gym type but its related
A few years ago and i am walking over the hills from one village to my home town (8 miles of baking sun and lots of up) and it occurs to me maybe my mum is at the health spa/timeshare/gym place they have near Langdale, so i nip in, spot her car and nip in to have a pint on the outside balcomy and wait for her to emerge from which ever place she is having bits of her body cut off, polished, toned, replaced. As i enjoy a smoke and a beer a HUGE muscle bound tanned meathead sits next to me. I am not confident in the company of such alpha males and squeek a hello.

Turns out i used to go to school with him and he had vanished at some point down south. He'd ended up going to cambridge and got into rowing and was now finishing a PHD in biochemistry or some such. fascinating guy, looked like he ate steroids by the pound but it was all just hard work and training.

Peak of physical fitness: Check
Incredibly bright and educated: Check
Utterly charming: Check
Bought me a pint: Check

never felt so small and useless in my life...

Until he told me how he was in the Lakes volunteering with disadvantaged youths as a mountain leader and first aid guy until he went to africa to build wells.

The bastard :/
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 12:08, 6 replies)
Im a member of a gym
Its hot, sweaty, nosiy, full of nubile women...

Only I very rarely go - its cheaper and more fun to go out clubbing instead.
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 11:37, Reply)
Swimming pool trauma.
My uncle's an architect, and this is his story. I can't remember whether it's something that happened to him, or to a person he knows, or whether it's an urban myth; nor, really, do I care.

The commission was to build an Olympic-standard swimming pool somewhere in the North of England. This ought to have been straightforward enough: dig 50-metre hole, tile, fill with water, take money, run.

The thing with Olympic-standard swimming pools, though, is that they have to be validated by the IOC, and so an inspector was sent out from that body to verify that it was all up to snuff before it was filled and opened. And it wasn't up to snuff.

It was embarrassingly not up to snuff.

True, a 50-metre hole had been dug, and it had been tiled. The problem was that the tiles were three-dimensional. If you allow 5mm for the depth of the tile, this means that a fifty metre hole generates a 49.99 metre pool, which is not Olympic sized. It's just large - though not quite large enough.

(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 11:37, 11 replies)
ignoring the parking as near to the gym as possible thing
what is wrong with people driving to the gym?

not everyone lives within a reasonable walking or cycling distance to one, and so have to drive.

alternatively, they might be happy to spend an hour in the gym working hard, but don't have the extra half hour for a stroll when they can drive there in a couple of minutes.

they could also be on their way to or from somewhere else.

It's a stupid thing to repeatedly criticise.

For the record, I don't go to the gym, I swim and surf, but when I did go I used my bike. until I broke it.
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 11:32, 1 reply)
Gym - A Blokes Perspective
There's a whole variety of things that I vehemently dislike about going to the gym but fear that as a consequence of my sedentary lifestyle (esp at work) I'd run the risk of becoming Jabba the Hutt without it.

Amongst things I despise about the gym:

1. Entertainment

At my place we've got a residents-only gym, with a huge plasma TV on the wall. Great (thinketh I) - can work or watch news / Discovery Channel etc whilst on the treadmill (see below). In all of the time that I've been going there it's never once worked, despite promises from the gym management.

2. Cardiomachines

This is a particular gripe with regards to the treadmill but is relevant to most cardio machines. BORING. My iPod, for example, contains tracks that I like but if I'm thrashing the shite out of myself on the treadmill I'd quite like to have something to watch or read whilst I'm running. It's boring as hell and the treadmill seems to be a case of a "watched pot never boils".

3. Weight Machines

Going on to a resistance machine with a weight stack that's been used previously by someone who's obviously bigger and appears fitter than me to find that the twunt in question has only been toning with the lightest weight - especially if they've been doing the Gareth Cheesman straining-like-he's-passing-a-bowling-ball impersonation.

4. Pool

I like swimming, but I'm Norwegian: unlike everyone else, I don't go straight into the pool, I go into the sauna for a while then pool, then sauna ... (repeat x3). Please don't look at me like I'm a freak when I do.

5. Trainers

Yes, you've got a degree in sports management from the university of Swindon (or wherever). Yes, you spend your entire life in the gym and thus look suitably fit. Despite these things, no, I don't need any help. When I do need help, you'll know about it, because I'll be on my back on the floor holding on to my left arm in agony.

6. Body Builders

I'm sure that in your head you look great. With the lycra and the muscles and the blood vessels, you look like you're about to either stroke or have an aneurysm. You're obviously overcompensating for something, get over it.
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 10:33, 3 replies)
List of gym annoyances.
I'm desperately trying to think of a way of putting this in a non-"honda accord" kind of way and it's kinda tricky. I've always gone the gym fairly regularly, mostly because I used to kickbox and have been doing Krav Maga for a while, and you get your arse handed to you if you participate in either of these arts without being in shape. So I go the gym quite a lot. Here are my list of gym annoyances:
* People who sit on machines for hours. I once saw a woman on the bench-press machine who just lay there for 20 minuites, occasionally doing five reps of 5lbs. She actually seemed alseep for a while.
* Smelly blokes. Yeah, I may smell a bit when I've been inthere for a while but there's no excuse for turning up smelling like that.
* Posers. I once saw a bloke stand in front of a mirror for 5 minutes, admiring himself. Not flexing or anything, just looking himself up and down.
* People who park their BMW's in the disabled spaces right next to the entrance, then walk on the treadmill for 10 minutes. Try walking to the gym, or from the other side of the carpark, for that matter.
* Captain One-rep. The bloke who stacks the bar with tonnes of weight, does one rep, then leaves the bar there.
* Fat hairly blokes who walk around the changing rooms tackle out. No-one needs to see that.
* People who sweat all over the benches and never wipe them down
* Spitting in the shower. Grim.
* The bloke who makes a big show of putting on gloves, "warming up" then leathering the punch-bag twice before wandering off, trying to look hard while he catches his breath. Stevie Wonder could see those two haymakers coming and get out the way.
* The bloke who dries his "fun zone" with a hairdryer

I'm sure there's more...
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 9:51, 1 reply)
Whuppingboy, below, reminds me.
There's a bloke at my gym who does his treadmill routine wearing some contraption that looks like a pair of dungarees made out of wetsuit material.

He's quite odd.
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 9:42, 2 replies)
Towel boy and Gabbing Girls
I had an accident about a year ago and underwent surgery. To recover properly from this it was recommeded that i attend a local gym. I went for a year and mostly enjoyed it. In my gym there were quite a few stereotypes to say the least.
1. Biggest, Baddest all muscle meathead, could lift tons but couldn't bend down enough to tie his shoe laces because of the massive amount of steroidic shit around him.
2. Gossiping ladies who sit on opposite machines and gab for hours lifting about a quarter of a pond when you want the machine. After ten minutes you politely ask for the machine and she looks back at you as if you had just asked her to do a strip show for you with her friend.
But the most entertaining to me was TOWEL BOY....!
He strolled around in all the garb, leotard bib with vest on top, black leather gloves, i-pod, trainers and sometimes sweatbands, (head and arms). iN THE WHOLE YEAR I WAS THERE I NEVER SAW HIM TOUCH A MACHINE OR DO ANY KIND OF FITNESS ROUTINE He simply wandered around talking to people with a manky towel round his neck. I would have loved to of asked him what he does but didn't cos he talked to the meathead quite alot and he may of gt him to get me later or even in the showers......
I have left now but see them around...bunch of fucking weirdos if you ask me...
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 7:55, 5 replies)
Here is another.

While I was a gym instructor at the south east London gym, a crowd of us stff were crowded around the desk, chatting and not really paying attention.

A client runs up to us and points to the treadmills and says someone needs help.
So two of us walk over there to find a 60 year old woman laying facedown on the floor, with her head jammed in between two of the machines.

Later we found out she had her water bottle on the floor between the two machines, and tried to bend down, while still walking to pick it up. She slipped and her head went straight into the two machines.

So we walk up to her, she isn't really making any noise, her treadmill is still going around the track and there is someone on the other treadmill, jogging.

I walk around the front and the guy running clearly knows she is there, jammed between his machine and her own. I ask him to stop and he says "I've only got a few minutes mate". I switch off his machine and force him to a stop.

We get her out and get her seated with a drink. She is just shaken up more than anything. She gives me her husband's phone number. I call him up and tell him that his wife has been in an accident and needs to be picked up.

His reply was "I ain't picking 'er up, tell her to get a fuckin' ambulance".

I wish I was making this up.
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 7:01, 1 reply)
I am a fitness instructor and I used to work in as gym in south east London. I used to do boxing sparing with clients. One day this 20-something woman came up to me and asked if she could have a go.

We started the warm up and she mentioned she had just eaten, but not me not wanting the 32DD's walking away, I insisted that she continued.

After five minutes, she looked at me and clutched her mouth and ran to the toilet. She only made it half way there before sick was projected through there fingers. She carried on running to the toilet and left a trail of a watery cheese and sweetcorn jacket potato all the way.

I grabbed a mop and started to clean it up, I was already right at the end of my shift and it was a friday night, so I just left the mop and bucket in the cleaning cupboard without cleaning it, assuming the night cleaners would when they got there.

Monday morning comes, 7am the wanker of a Manager walks in and comments that the gym needs spot mopping. I am tired and walk to the cupboard and put the bucket straight under the tap and pour soap in it.

I drag the bucket and start to spot mop.

I knew there was a funny smell, but I thought that it was whatever I was mopping up. I do a quick job, basically throwing the water around the gym and rubbing it in with the mop.

After 10 minutes, the smell was unbearable. After another 10 minutes, customers were complaining, the air conditioning had taken it, not only all over the gym, but the cafe area too.

I found out the the night cleaners didn't work over the weekend, inlcuding Friday night. The sick had been fermentating in the bucket for 3 days before I scrubbed it right back into the floor.
(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 6:50, Reply)
Gyms are great
Oh how you all laugh at people driving to the gym to workout, you ridicule anybody with large muscles in the gym and brand them 'steroid freaks' with great mirth as you all regale each other with tales of humorous woe.

It's strange, but gym is where fat people are accepted. After all why are they there in the first place? if not to lose weight and look good.

Of course you are going to meet/see some oddballs, weirdos and sometimes pricks, be forced to listen to the awful gym music and unexpedtedly see somebody naked (thats a given). But this all just adds to the experience of gym and after a few weeks, it will catch on.

(, Mon 13 Jul 2009, 1:19, Reply)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Popular, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1