I'm Spinning Around..

....I'm outta control...

Makes a change then?

Anyway things are still going great guns at the gym. The influx of new blood for the new year, who in the main look significantly less fit than me (which is going some), means that, hopefully, some of my latest embarrassing incidents won't have been too obvious.

Firstly there was the time I found myself pinned beneath circa 18 stone of sweating flesh. I wish I could say that this was by choice or in fact, even if it wasn't, that I'd found it at least mildly thrilling, but no.

No.

There was I lying on the crash mat things, breathing (I was supposed to be doing something strong with my 'core' but at this point I was just lying back and thinking about having scampi and chips for tea) when I heard a loud grunt, felt a thud and a large man, who'd got rather over exuberant astride a gym ball, came over the top and landed across my torso.

Thanks but errr no thanks. He nearly ruptured something.

Acutally I've never seen him since.

I was perhaps his first, and last, experience of getting a sweat on?

Then there was the time I was on the step machine, tugged my sweatshirt off over my head and put my fist straight through a polystyrene ceiling tile... People stared but I just carried on as if punching holes in the ceiling was an every day part of my life.

And who knows maybe it should be?

Anyway, last but not least, there are my experiences of 'spinning'.

Spinning, if you're not 'up with the fitness vibe', is basically sitting on a stationary bike listening to pounding music whilst a sadist in Lycra shouts phrases like 'turn up THAT RESISTANCE I WANT TO SEE YOUR PAIN'.

You can see my pain, resistance or not because the seats are like flaming concrete and 30 seconds after positioning my arse on one I can assure you that you CAN SEE MY PAIN.

I've been told to buy a special gel seat covering but I've noticed they are normally only carried by elderly ladies who've had some kind of prolapse and I'm not there. Yet.

Anyway the thing about Spinning is that unlike a lot of aerobics classes, Spinning is popular with men. Fit, cycling men. Lots of very fit cycling men, glistening with sweat and working hard to keep grinding those pedals round and round......

So you don't want to go making a fool of yourself in front of them.

Howver, last week, there I was Spinning away, when I noticed a rather nauseating aroma. It appeared that one of the men was wearing somekind of horrid aftershave. Sort of sweet and sickly and spicy and musky and just wrong, really really wrong. Even more wrong than Lynx. And that's going some.

And then I realised.

Realised that having made a giant vegetable curry in the slow cooker I had spent the last 3 days eating it. Morning, noon and night. Nothing but curry.

And thus I was sweating the sweet (or rather stale) scent of curry.

And the more I sweated the more I stank.

I'm telling you now, people were looking around wondering who'd fired up the Balti pot.

Hmmmm.

However as my friend pointed out last night, smelling of curry is not necessarily a bad thing.

Men like curry.

Men like women.

Put them together and you've got two for the price of one.

'Good sense of humour, likes a good time and cider, can cook (but not clean) and tastes like an onion bhaji'.

Form and orderly queue gents, form an orderly queue......

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