Run away!
Ah the gym, the smell of people working out, the sight of bouncing womens jubblies whilst they pretend to run 5 miles. I don't get there enough to shed the weight caused by far to many pizzas. Working out alone is boring but when you're with friends it's OK.

Anyways, after the gym came a nice relaxing swim. Well, usually relaxing until we knew that when late at night nobody used the pool we could have some fun. It started harmlessly enough, beating the shit out of each other with the floats and then it moved on to us bringing a small football in to play with. It was normal for one of us to go home feeling semi concussed after having a ball fly into the side of your head at high speeds.

The other cool thing was the women, oh yes there were some hotties there for all to see. The steam room was the best place as they would generally lay down on the seats, a well positioned man would have a problem hiding the evidence that he was perving, unless he made the quick dash out of the steam room and jumped into the pool, which would then feel like you were jumping into a lake in the Arctic. Guaranteed boner removal.

So yea, gyms are good for perving at women in tight clothing/swimsuits depending where you are and for seeing who can hold their breath the longest in the pool before almost drowning.

Sorry for length, she was wearing the smallest bikini top ever!
(Dr.Spack Dr. Lepper! What's the worst that can happen?, Thu 16 Jul 2009, 12:08, Reply)

I don't go to the gym:
I get out in the fresh air instead and go power kiting. Think "scaled down paraglider" and you're close.

In the couple of months since I finished uni for the year I've put on nearly a stone. My arm also looks like it was recently trapped in a waffle iron as a result of a nasty accident more than six weeks ago.



Maybe I should start...
( MatJ LOOK, Thu 16 Jul 2009, 11:48, Reply)

Just remembered a late one...
I had just moved house and was looking for a gym, so obviously, I googled 'gyms in Oxford'. I ruled out a couple for being too expensive, and went to have a look around another.

Then, walking around Oxford, I saw one I never knew existed (a big chain named around Los Angeles)... I booked an appointment to go and have a look around, and told the woman about not finding this place.

Her reply was:
"You wouldn't have found us when you searched for gyms, we're a health club"

No, you're a gym with a pretentious name you stupid bint. Needless to say, I didn't respond to any of her follow up calls.
(The Kwyjibo A big, dumb, balding North American ape., Thu 16 Jul 2009, 11:16, Reply)

*
The last gym you were in moved to San Francisco!
('tin'tintin, Thu 16 Jul 2009, 10:11, Reply)

im a bird on my own
and there was a moth in the bathroom and that. i couldnt catch it with the fucking hoover pipe and i didnt want to get near it so i killed it with half a fucking can of elnett. i dunno what i thought hairspray would do but basically it didnt stop flying, just dragged its sorry half fucking dead carcass around while shedding several layers of moth-skin until it finally gave up the ghost fifteen long minutes later in the sink where i rammed it down the plughole with the end of daves toothbrush.

i should take this shit to qotw

oh wait i did HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

so yer, i cant be arsed with gyms full of sweaty people innit
( rosalicious i fucking love youve been framed, Thu 16 Jul 2009, 8:07, 12 replies)

I've eaten a load of chips and I'm 8 stone.
Gym? What gym? Just walk.
(ladyintheradiator, Thu 16 Jul 2009, 1:00, Reply)

In my Chinese gym
* men often exercised with their shirt pulled up exposing their (usually large and sagging) guts ... treadmill, weights, bikes, whatever, "tummy out" was the acceptable norm.

* i got eyed up in the shower one time and told i was "very big" ... er, cheers, mr gym instructor fella.

* the weights were never in any order on the stacks. you'd hunt for ages for a specific dumbbell. when i asked why they didnt have a system with labels and order, etc, they just said "oh we're used to it this way".

* the toilets were rank. the showers pretty disgusting too. waiting til i got home was a very good idea.

and really, that pretty much sums up china. (and my gym experiences there - met some nice ppl i guess).
(zenmeban thinks the weather could be better, Thu 16 Jul 2009, 0:28, Reply)

quick one
I hate gyms..

made obvious by the fact I'm a bit squidgy..

but I do exercise.. I run every day and do pilates

now I just need to stop eating all the crap...
(miss.spanky.pants .. is looking for a handsome prince..., Wed 15 Jul 2009, 22:26, Reply)

I have just come back from the Gym
The gym that I built from second hand machines and weights and is in my garage. I have just done 15km on an exercise bike (free donation from lazy friend), 5km on my cross trainer (£20 and I had to pick it up 30 mile away), did some bench presses, and then did some free standing weights (free on gumtree).

I will walk the dog in a minute!

I am still fat
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Wed 15 Jul 2009, 19:54, Reply)

Gym Will Fix It
This QOTW has stirred in my cluttered memory a fantastic story. Gyms are where people go to get trim, get fit, and hopefully use their improved self-image to score with someone they think is out of their league. I don't go to the gym but my friend did for a short while. I did not find out until much, much later why he stopped going to the gym. It wasn't laziness and it wasn't for lack of will. It was a good old British dose of crippling social anxiety.

Like all good stories this concerns sex. My friend was still quite young and a strapping lad in his mid to late teens. Unlike everyone else we knew, who had had sex or were unabashedly lying to make it look like they had been having what everyone else said they'd been having, he was an unashamed virgin. This guy is quite attractive, girls swoon over him, but he has a slight awkwardness about him that means he always fucks it up. So he decided to go to the gym to boost his self-image and get rid of the beginnings of booze-flab.

For several months he simply trotted off to the gym and began getting that odd holier-than-thou complexion that comes from going to the gym obsessively. You know, the types that keep badgering you to go to the gym because "oh my gosh how could I have survived before the gym!?". It was fair to say his confidence was rising. The rising in confidence brought into his mind that he could do with a job. Become a Man's man.

After the interview for this job, still suited and booted, he went back to the gym, where his smart self obviously stirred the loins of the lonely receptionist there. She flirted outrageously with him because there's nothing like a suit to make you look rich and together, which his leather jacket and holey Rolling Stones t-shirts he normally wore didn't do. But I digress. He cons his way into a date with this beauty and instantly runs into a problem: he has nowhere to take her home to. No lush bachelor's pad. No penthouse suite. Only a house 20 miles out of town. With his parents in.

Not one to give up a deception without exhausting all options, he charmed the keys of his dad's friend's friend, who happened to housesit an inner city mansion, filled with exotic carpets and said friend's exotic herbs. So he ends up starkers in a stranger's bedroom with a woman he hardly knows, who taking the initiative has been asking for some decidedly off-colour fun.

Not wanting to look like he doesn't know what he's doing (because he's a super-rich successful businessman with an inner-city mansion and housekeep) he awkwardly thrusts and pouts and grunts, throwing around his wobbly man-member to try and please this woman. The only research he's had for this has been internet porn so the results when coupled with the woman's darling abundance of alacrity resulted in some phenomenally awkward sex. He was so embarassed that he kicked her out afterwards and slept on the floor in front of the bed he had just christened with his own fluids.

He told me this story when I was on said bed and also pointed out every piece of free-standing furniture he had athletically had sex on, which included a radiator, sink, and mini-bar. I was also told not to use any of the toothbrushes or to even think about touching the food in the bar. When pressed for an answer why, he clams up and starts nervously reaching for his arse.
(John_Anon_Prince I have no heart and soul, Wed 15 Jul 2009, 17:58, Reply)

Gym warnin PJM?

I sat with Jim drinking my gin when busty Jen (she was a gem) came from the obGyn on the way to the gym, I made to follow them (ah, Jen) but Jim, him of the rugged chin, smile of sin and pants tented with a tin fin, said him: "You're dim Quinn, her quim's like a bin and you're just a pin, there's no way you'll win, I'm in like flynn but your hopes are grim, you'd have more luck with rin tin tin..."

He continued his din, but I ignored him. I knew Jen's tight mim, which he'd never got in.

For you see Jim (who's form was trim and in who's eyes you could swim) was no love magician, to woo a girl he'd kick her shin, just to begin, then to her back bin and nuzzle her wrong way in with his helmet's rim... to jen and her desirin' (not to mention most every fem not into s and m) - Jim was a sex mortician.

I knew with Jen, to sin, to win, to taste her mim - rub her twins! around and in, with passion and feelin, her desire would quicken, and then summon like a lamp with a Djinn, her need for men! And all of a sudden - you'd be in, with the moanin and writhin and grindin and then - (like magic baby, sim sala bim!) she'd be kneelin with the wickedest of grins, to start pullin and suckin and blowin your min (to the max, and then around again), all for the wantin of your N.I.N to release it's golden jay eye zee em all over her beautiful lovin twins, eyes glowin, breasts glistenin, heavin, still full of vim and ready to go again... time at the gym spent with Jen... it's the greatest of all possible feelin's.

But not for Jim.

Fuck him.
( Allisade would love to hear from you, Wed 15 Jul 2009, 16:48, 4 replies)

My gym
Is full of old men who think that the best thing to do after a post workout shower is to stand on stool next to the full lenth mirrors in the changing room and dry thier chords with the hair dryers!!! Just use a towel or if thats tooo much like hard work air dry just keep the hot air away from your old arse cracks.
Also whoever it is who has a massive shit at around 7.00 every night in the only trap available could they please cut down on the amount of dead things they eat its starting to effect my mind.

Cheers
(Shitquest is as shitquest does, Wed 15 Jul 2009, 16:21, 1 reply)

Blergh
I don’t really go to the gym any more due to my hectic family life (this is such a lie, I could have easily gone the other day but instead spent a good few hours making a model of the aliens from last weeks Torchwood using a semi melted Lego man, two half eaten chicken legs and a packet of Marlborough).

Anywhoo one incident that I thought is worth a mention is from the time in my life I actually did go to the gym quite regularly. I’m not a regular gymgoer I would just use the squash courts with a number of equally minded mates.

We would often turn up earlier than booked, hoping that the court itself had not been booked before so we had a chance to spend more time on the court. One time we turned up and were not as lucky. The court was being used by a husband and wife who looked a tad mismatched. He was quite well built and sweating profusely while she was heavily made up and looked like she hadn’t really done anything to exert herself.

Spotting us through the glass partition the bloke nodded to us to signal that he had seen us and mentioned that they would finish the game. The game was pretty one sided and before long the bloke had won and he made his way to the front wall to collect the bags he had taken on to court with him. During his walk to the bags mr sweaty removed his sweat sodden shirt and wiped his face down with it. Removing his shirt revealed that his back was covered in spots of all shapes an sizes (It was impossible to ignore we were waiting to go on court and were watching for them to leave for gods sake). What I didn’t know was that it was about to get worse.

His other half wandered over and shrieked (believe me it was a shriek) “Ooh Andy you’ve got some good ones today” and started to squeeze the heads off the back of his spots in the middle of the court.

Andy didn’t sound like this was anything out of the ordinary and sat there while his lovely lady proceeded to describe each one as she popped it (This one looks like its going to go all over the place- bloody hell its spat out some orange too). It was like watching a car crash, we could not avert our eyes as we were frozen to the spot totally bewildered at the situation.

After a few more attempts (Including a yellow head that partly hit her in the eye) the young couple made their way off court. As mrs spot-squeezer made her way through the door she left us one parting gift by wiping what residue she had from her husbands bacne onto the glass door frame.

That was the straw that broke the camels back. I started retching from the puss rainbow in front of me while my mate went to the reception area to get someone to clean it up.

We stopped using the centre shortly after.
(mon bison powered by magnets, Wed 15 Jul 2009, 14:15, 5 replies)

S club 7 in watersports shame
Years ago i belonged to a gym just outside Bath. The posh kind that doubled up as a posh country hotel.

Thats the scene set..one day in the mid 90's there is a bit more than the usual activity in the gym. "She looks familiar" thinks Pilpsuk..."and her...and her too"

Turns out they were the girls from S club 7 - including the racist one (who wasnt racist at the time)

Overcome with excitement i retreat to the pool and then the spa I dont know about you, but swimming does something to my bladder. No sooner was I in the hot bubbly water than Rachel Stevens and others come in too.

Pilpsuk faces a dilema. Does he stay and perve or does he go to the loo and risk some perve getting his place. Ah, I do both.

I can honestly say that I pissed on S club 7
(sarcasminasuit, Wed 15 Jul 2009, 14:06, 4 replies)

Fingered...
A little while ago, on /OT, someone mentioned Vibram FiveFingers - a kind of sports shoe that's more like a glove for the foot.

I was interested... so bought a pair to use at the gym. Having a dodgy knee means that I can't really road run - but I do try to do a bit on the treadmill every day just to keep the right muscles working in the hope that, one day, I'll have a knee replacement and be able to start running properly again.

So... the shoes.

They have no support at all. They don't have cushioned soles.

And they are fantastic.

At present, my feet hurt because the shoes hold the foot differently and force you to place it on the ground differently, and I've therefore got a few blisters. But they'll pass, and my running posture is better, I'm more efficient, faster, and - best yet - my knee has gone from alternating between a generalised throb and outright pain to feeling absolutely fine.

OK - correlation and cause and all that stuff. But I'm a convert.

EDIT AND UPDATE: Of course, if I end up completely unable to walk in a couple of years, I'll let y'all know...
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Wed 15 Jul 2009, 12:55, 38 replies)

Locker room chat
The chat between guys in the changing rooms of my gym is pretty good. The first and most memorable conversation I overheard was between two guys with necks bigger than my thighs:

#1: That was a good work out - I loved the run, that was my favourite bit.
#2: Aye, it's a good life we've got going these days.
#1 Tell me about it. I was a bit worried about you moving in, I though it might be a bit much. Lots of "Calum, lets eat some protein and work out. Calum do you want some protein? Fancy working out? More protein? Let's go and get some girls".
#2: You mean laydeeeeeez
#1: Aye, "Calum, let's eat protein, work out and get some laydeeeeeez"

I was creasing but couldn't laugh in case they introduced my face to the floor.

Then there were the three guys, at least one new father and one more experienced, talking about the pros and cons of bottle milk vs "titty" milk. Not just "titty milk" but "TIT-ah milk". Apparently the vitamins "and that" in breast milk are better for the baby.
(cannonfodder fodder for cannons on, Wed 15 Jul 2009, 12:11, 1 reply)

Spotting - Please don't sweat on me..... Eww!
I was bench pressing at my old Spit&Sawdust gym and doing a fine job of it - one of the regulars could see me working out on my own (I usually did) and he decided to come and encourage me.

I don't mind encouragement from a 300lb muscle bound guy, but really, I'm not going to be able to bench press more than 100lb - which is what he put on the bar and said "why don't we give this a try".

Mmm, okay. I'll try it.

So he's stood over me while I get myself psyched up for this weight that I'd not done before.

I look up at him and he's being helpful. Apart from the fact he's been working out. And sweating. A lot.

And he's stood over me. Sweat beading down his face. Dripping. On. To. Me.

EEEeeeeeeeewwwwwww - someone elses sweat - grosss!!! It was dripping down all over me and he didn't realse this. That was enough motivation for me - I managed to to 8 reps before I decided that that was just too gross.

I don't mind someone elses sweat if it my OH's and, well, you know - but that was just wrong. On every level.

He spotted for me again, but I always made sure I noticed which equipment he was using beforehand - just in case.
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Wed 15 Jul 2009, 11:28, 1 reply)