A new day… a new blog.
Nearly two hours of working out at gym gives me plenty of time to think. I’ve never done more exercising in my 25 years so far (unless you count chewing and typing and frequent bouts of morning walks). But my hyper active mind compensates for a lot of things. Today, when I work out, I find myself a lot more energetic than CYTs (Chubby young things) that flocks such Health Spas.
A woman doing a twisting exercise next to me tried to make a conversation last week. I can not be too kind to her in calling her simply chubby with the circumference that nearly annoyed my eyes. But I can be sporty and not so mean by calling her the ‘Healthy lady’. Here goes the conversation:
HL: How long have you been exercising?
Me: It’s my third week. And you?
HL: I came for three days last year. Then I stopped. Now I’ve started again. It’s my first day this year. (I throw in a sympathetic smile.) Is it your first time?
(I hide my chuckle at the possible meanings of that question)
Me: Yes. I never knew working out could be so much fun.
HL: Is it? I find it too difficult. I can’t spend more than 20 minutes here.
I was done with what I was doing by this time. I wanted to give her one of my notorious encouraging speech. But to my surprise, before I could settle on another machine and start talking, she waves me good bye and walks out. I’ve not seen her back again. At least she could have listened to me before just going away like that. Sigh!
Meanwhile, life at gym goes on as a StyleBen stepped in the other day. She was thinner than Amrita Rao. All those poor souls sweating to lose some pounds kept wondering why did she have to remind them of their miseries? Luckily I discovered and spread it in the area that she had come just to accompany her not so Stylish boyfriend for ‘time-pass’. To the dismay of the bodybuilders who keep pumping iron and giggle in a corner, she never came back either.
Let me talk about those who are regulars. That list must include Mr. Mehta and I. We both generally end up entering the cardio section together. While thrashing the treadmill for nearly 20 miutes to half an hour, we merely exchange the pleasantries. I wonder if the fact that we work out on parallel treadmills have turned us into some kind of rivals. On my third day of treadmill he advised me to increase the speed. I denied him and said I would rather go by instructor’s word and maintain my speed of 3.0. He used to work out on 5.5. Now after three weeks, I can go up to 7.5. But I maintain a steady 5 or a bit more. And every few minutes, I would increase .5 and the minute I do it, Mr. Mehta goes a point higher than me. The regular occurrences of him maintaining the speed tad bit faster than me, followed by a smirk or a humph makes me smile. I am wondering what kind of pleasure is a 50+ gentleman getting out of keeping the treadmill faster than me. But if that is helping him in keeping his morale high, I don’t mind smiling a bit broader, every time he runs faster.
I wish increasing happiness was as easy as increasing speed on a treadmill.