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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)
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These things happen to me.
I once had free use of the gym at the educational establishment I worked at. Wasn't the most equipped gym, but the machine room had a cross-trainer, two treadmills, two rowing machines and a handful of bikes of varying antiquity.

Anyway, I used to go with a few people from my office, we'd start with a jog around campus, and on this eventful evening a gent who I was trying to impress who'd just started coming with us was first up on the treadmill. I ended up on the rower, and bided my time until the moment was right and I could get on the treadmill next to him.

The second treadmill was a basic, very old one, with no horizontal bar across. It had moments of unreliability, but to be honest I didn't mind that the best information its tiny LCD gave out was km/h and estimated calories. The other machine gave out heartrate, distance achieved and likelihood of Carole Thatcher incursion.

This particular night, while I was at girly-running full pelt next to him, sweat emerging from every pore and panting like a police dog in Nottinghamshire - the power went off in the gym.

Hunky new bloke described the moment as thus:
"One minute you were running like a spaz, then the lights went really dim, a loud clattering and slapping sound, followed by a thud and when the lights came back on, there was a smear of blood down the wall and you were in a heap in front of your machine."

I broke my nose, glasses and self-respect on that night.
(, Thu 9 Jul 2009, 22:56, Reply)

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