Health is Wealth - Gym Jam

This is my year for getting fit.

This is my year for getting fit.

This is my year for getting fit!

OK, now that I have convinced myself, perhaps you'll believe me.

Anyway, I've joined a gym and hired a personal trainer.

Getting used to a new gym is always difficult. You aren't sure where anything is, everyone seems to know everyone else and say hello to each other, everyone seems to be skinner, fitter, buffer than you, you don't know how to work the equipment... and, if you are me, you forget your new locker padlock combination and you have to go downstairs, still panting, red faced and sweaty, to ask for bolt cutters.

But, of course, first I had to suffer the unhelpful Third Degree....

"Don't you have your combination written down?"
"Yes, but that's in my purse, and my purse is in the locker."

"Are you sure you can't remember the combination?"
"Yes, I've been trying for ten minutes."

With a clickety-click on the computer keyboard: "Did you register your padlock combination on your gym profile?"
"No, I wasn't told I could do that."
"Well, when you get your next padlock, you should do that."
Deep breath iiiiiiiiin...... Deep breath ooooooout......"Thanks, great idea. But can you help get this padlock open?"

Of course, the male receptionists can't come into the Women's changing room, so along comes an impossibly young thing who's so tiny she makes Keira Knighley look chunky. She can barely get the bolt cutters up to waist level, never mind squeeze the handles hard enough to cut through the metal of the padlock.

And there's always that woman - isn't there? - who happens to be in the changing room at the same time and wants to "be helpful" by making completely obvious observations which she somehow thinks constitute helpful advice.

"Oh yes, you have to get the bolt cutters right in there."
"It works by squeezing those handles together."
"I've seen this done and it can be really difficult."

And the Receptionist, obviously believing in some twisted sense of customer service, refused to let me help. She huffed and she puffed but she couldn't break that lock down.

She went away to try to " see if there were any other bolt cutters" (because that would make a difference) and came back five minutes later, defeated. There were no other bolt cutters. Perhaps she was expecting to find some that came with a special electric switch, who knows?'

She insisted on trying again. It was like watching a stick insect try to fuck a lion.

I blew hard and sent her wispy body flying across the room (OK, maybe it didn't really happen like that) and got at the handles. An oomph! and a quick shove later, the padlock was broken.

So now I'm the fat, silly cow who forgot her locker combination, didn't write it down or register it on my profile and caused all sorts of trouble for the sweet little Receptionist. On the way out I slunk out of the gym, past the front desk, as quickly as possible. If it wasn't for the Personal Trainer, I'd probably never go back.