On modern day gymming...

I say modern day gymming because well, I don't know what gymming was like before I started it three years ago. In my own experience, however, It has been consistently amusing. Although not the most noble reason, a constant source of amusement lies in the discomfort of others.

As of February last, I'd been fairly unable to actually attend the gym due to a not-so-minor back problem; I was one of those people you read about in the papers getting hit by a blueline, the difference being that I lived. My back however, didn't do so well. Now a ton of physio and a whole bunch of aasans I can't name later, I'm back at the gym. Truth be told I've been back there a little over two months, and now that I'm finally seeing some results, along with the fact that I've put on seven kilos, got my chest back to a respectable forty-two inches and can do more than one chin up at a time, I'm talking about it. I've also been able to con one of my classmates into joining with me, although he isn't the most complacent as regards getting out of bed at 6:30 in the morning and actually exercising. I suppose the most delicious aspect of working out at that ungodly hour, other than the sheer beauty of a nearly-empty gym, would be the complete lack of tangible feeling in the extremities by the end of the drive up to the gym premises. It takes a good twenty minutes of warming up just to get that feeling back, and another twenty to get the joints nice and free.

I digress. Modern day gymming consists of varying degrees of pain. One of the prime forms is an absolute lack of eye candy. Ninety percent of the people dedicated enough to attend the gym at that ungodly hour of the morning are particularly unfit, and/or old. The fact that I met Taru over a year prior in a similar setting notwithstanding, and being considerably underweight due to a lack of sleep and an off the charts metabolism, my own usage of the cardio section of my gym is fairly limited, although it does consist of much avoiding of conversation with the aforementioned unfit sections of gymmers, as any talk with individuals running on parallel treadmills, and the subsequent instinctive looking at those individuals can result in a particularly painful fall. In my presence, a whopping eighteen people have fallen off their treadmills, three of which managed to slip off the back edge in an effort to emulate my long-strides at high speeds. There were also the creepy 40-something mothers who were talking about my most lovely sculpted butt loud enough for me to hear, while I stretched one fine morning.

Moving onto the basement, the weights section. After an eight month hiatus from weight lifting of any kind, everything is torture. Of course, being treated like a war hero by the other dedicated early morning gymmers who have made little to no improvement to their own physiques in the subsequent months, can prove to be quite motivating. These guys, while uncouth and absolutely dripping of testosterone, are shining examples of loyalty and brotherhood, as evidenced on the occasion I dared to ask for some of the lighter dumbbells one particularly large fellow was sitting amidst a sea of and seemed to be lording over. He seemed to take my request as a personal affront to his right over all the twenty-odd dumbbells of a myriad of weight denominations he had surrounded himself with and stood up, rather threateningly. To my surprise, all these other chaps stood up to him and warned him in rather curt haryanavi to be nice to Reno bhai.

The various denizens of the basement vary in their mannerisms. There's the trainer, a huge faced (and chested) ex-CRPF officer who has a 12.8 second 100 meter sprint time and a penchant for telling people to eat peanuts. He also likes to talk about violins, and plays the Indian flute.
He's usually followed around by a fellow with a massive shoulder span that could exceed three and a half fellows about my size, most wonderfully sculpted butts optional, standing side by side. He thumps walks about with a menacing look on his face, but has a voice akin to a Barbara Streisand number played on fast forward. He also giggles like a schoolgirl with a crush, and is very, very polite, especially regarding sharing weights. Oh and the guy has enough strength to make one think that anyone can pull off a set of 22 overhead one arm tricep curls with a 35kilo(77lbs) dumbell.
There's also the sub 30-ish little person who I can't seem to stop calling 'adorable' in my head. In fact whenever I see him, my mind goes off to a chorus of "Aww, look at the cute little midget," and (so I've been told) my face gets the same look it gets when I see a puppy. I do hope that's the reason for the dirty looks he gives me, rather than the possibility that I may just be saying the chorus line out loud.

Now while I certainly have a very long way to go and multiple goals to achieve yet, starting with the purely cosmetic long term, a 52 inch chest, 18 inch biceps and no more than a 30 inch waist(only 1 inch more than what I currently have), to the short term where I intend to have a securely strengthened enough and supported back to be back on top of a horse in another three months' time, I hope to retain the positive note I've been on for the last two months.
Care to keep me motivated with your exercise stories?