“I’ve lassoed the kettlebell weight. Do I win something?”

It’s been over a week and I’m still doing exercise. I think this may be a sign of deep-seated mental illness. Every time I train I effectively forfeit my right to walk properly for the next couple of days. This is not a good trade in my view. In fact, two of three gym sessions have resulted in me not being able to slump on the sofa properly. Like now. That’s just plain unacceptable.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I could make a solid living from charging entry to watch my sessions. Even the man who runs the gym, who must be used to seeing comedy workouts by now, can’t help but chuckle along as I wheeze and make random, sporadic movements. He thinks I can’t see him laughing but I can; there are mirrors everywhere.

There is no suitable picture today, so here is a confused owl.

There is no suitable picture today, so here is a confused owl.

I’ve also realised that when I work out I look very, very silly. My face contorts into a mixture of pain and confusion as my body is ravaged by unexpected movement. I begin to throw juddering, erratic and slightly disturbing shapes which are in no way in time with the background music. In truth, it looks exactly like when I try to do dancing – and I’ve realised that this is another one of the reasons I don’t have a girlfriend. In future I shall refrain from dancing.

Two incidents really stuck out today as blindingly, hilariously incompetent.

First, after a few sets on the arms where my motions made me look a bit like a constipated cod, Deepak tried me on skipping.

For the record, I am not a skipper.

Skipping was something the girls did while us boys went and fought with sticks. When I was 7. It is not, I maintain, a healthy activity for an adult. As a result, I could not get the hang of skipping. Every time I managed to get the rope over my head I celebrated, forgetting that I had to move my feet. Split seconds later, my cheering mind would suddenly shout “Warning! Something’s coming towards your feet”, and then the rope would hit my feet.

Often I couldn’t actually get the rope around me in a suitable arc. Once I managed to somehow snare a nearby kettlebell weight, making me feel tough like a cowboy. It was the best thing I did with the skipping rope. I did not manage a single actual skip. We did resting instead.

Perhaps the coup de grace of today’s session was when Deepak cracked out the medicine ball. He lay on the mat, feet facing me, in a sit up position. I threw the ball to him, he reclined, touched the ball on the mat behind his head, threw it back to me. A simple idea.

One of the things they don’t tell you about medicine balls is that they’re particularly smooth. This one sailed through my attempted catch,  accelerated towards my body, and struck me square in the plums. I went down like a sack of potatoes and that was when we decided that the session had reached a natural end.

In other news, I found this flythrough of one of the zones I’ll be up against in May. It’s one zone out of 15.

Help! I’m going to be killed!

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