And I turned into a gym rat today....
It started when my mother wanted me to accompany her to California Fitness at Novena's Velocity. Each step towards Cali Fitness got those jitterbugs going and I started worrying about everything, anything - from my attire to the fear of being crushed by those gigantic cold metal machines. Give me the sun anytime, baby...not those gray things that manipulate me.
Cali Fitness was swarming with buffed-up youths, sporting a moonlight-tan which they proudly showcase through their racer-back singlets and what nots. If not for the fortunate coverage of 'em polo-tees, I'd probably have fled. The initial stare-me-downs led to a catwalk arena of ladies in sports bras and the latest yoga apparels, punctuated by white towel-clad models idling around the changing room - just like home. (Not really.)
Then there were those huge gray machines. Treadmills, stairtrainers, cycling machines and everything else that threatened to crush my bones peppered the entire level. I huffed and panted my way through brisk-walking on this treadmill with at least 50 options of cardio/fat-burning/hill/interval-training while my mum looked on in amusement. Then it occurred to me - damn, I forgot to stretch.
I said a meek hello to the "I forgot what its name" machine that works both the arms and legs, my mother's best friend in Cali. Gym ain't my thing, for it requires at least a minute's worth of psycho-motor confusion before my limbs finally accepted that they aren't in control - the machine is. I have had enough - its back to the treadmill with my normal jogging pace, plugged into the Pod blasting pumpin' House music.
Suddenly, I wanted so very much to dash down the dock, lace on those bindings and hit the water. I love my tan. :)
It started when my mother wanted me to accompany her to California Fitness at Novena's Velocity. Each step towards Cali Fitness got those jitterbugs going and I started worrying about everything, anything - from my attire to the fear of being crushed by those gigantic cold metal machines. Give me the sun anytime, baby...not those gray things that manipulate me.
Cali Fitness was swarming with buffed-up youths, sporting a moonlight-tan which they proudly showcase through their racer-back singlets and what nots. If not for the fortunate coverage of 'em polo-tees, I'd probably have fled. The initial stare-me-downs led to a catwalk arena of ladies in sports bras and the latest yoga apparels, punctuated by white towel-clad models idling around the changing room - just like home. (Not really.)
Then there were those huge gray machines. Treadmills, stairtrainers, cycling machines and everything else that threatened to crush my bones peppered the entire level. I huffed and panted my way through brisk-walking on this treadmill with at least 50 options of cardio/fat-burning/hill/interval-training while my mum looked on in amusement. Then it occurred to me - damn, I forgot to stretch.
I said a meek hello to the "I forgot what its name" machine that works both the arms and legs, my mother's best friend in Cali. Gym ain't my thing, for it requires at least a minute's worth of psycho-motor confusion before my limbs finally accepted that they aren't in control - the machine is. I have had enough - its back to the treadmill with my normal jogging pace, plugged into the Pod blasting pumpin' House music.
Suddenly, I wanted so very much to dash down the dock, lace on those bindings and hit the water. I love my tan. :)