My EYES!




This post is a plea, a heartfelt request to all that is right and holy in this world - with the hope that if just one person who reads this realises the error of their ways, I will have somehow left the world a better place than when I found it.


Three mornings a week, Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, I drag myself out of bed in the pitch darkness at 6am and drive miserably down the motorway to the big soulless megagym near my office. I am not really a 'gym' kind of person. I dont really like getting out of bed in the dark. I can't stand the spiky-haired Terry Topshops posing in front of the mirrors. The strange stringy women in there frankly terrify me. But I force myself into the discipline to go through this in order to fend off the effects of all the beer I drink - I have the rather large frame of a second row forward and without some regular exercise I would be but a monstrous lump of congealed paté with two eyes on top


BUT there is one thing that is driving me closer and closer to the edge, something that I can no longer suffer in silence. So here is my message to gym goers everywhere:

  • Please do not think that it's really normal to walk everywhere in the changing rooms totally naked. I really really do not want to see your penis- especially if you are over 50. Your penis is tiny, yet your scrotum is pendulous. This is not a good thing to share.
  • Being entirely naked, yet wearing sandals makes you look like a German wally.
  • Please do not ever stand less than a metre away from somebody you don't know and engage them in conversation whilst you are naked. Putting your hands on your hips whilst chatting inanely about the weather merely increases the terror. Please stop.
  • Please do not ever, ever bend over to dry your toes whilst naked.



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4 comments:

Gaw said...

How about converting your pithy message into perspex signs that can be stuck on the changing room walls? Get a couple of hundred made up so that you can keep replacing the ones that get taken down.

Alternatively, get a kettle bell and some Indian clubs and swing yourself buff in the privacy of your back garden. Whilst engaged in a regimen of physical jerks in my own back garden I was once mistaken for a homosexual by a neighbour who was spying on me from a scaffold. Naturally, I was delighted, taking this as high praise indeed.

worm said...

maybe I'll just get it tattooed across my chest. Dont get me wrong, Im not totally against nakedness per se, its more that in this modern towel-filled age that we live in, it seems that these people actively revel in walking around naked. Its like they are trying to prove some (very small) point

My father sounds the same as your neighbour - he thinks that any form of exercise that isn't running, boxing or rugby is definately suspect and a sure sign of Judy Garland tendencies

Brit said...

He thinks rugby isn't gay?

Alas, this is all too familiar, Worm. Like you, I have a second-rower's build, and without regular visits to the soulless megagym I turn rapidly into a hippo.

Wrote a poem about this once: might amuse you.

worm said...

excellent poem brit, thanks for sharing - seems to perfectly encapsulate the exact same way that I feel, a sort of guilty shame! haha

Its the fear of wasting £50 a month for membership that actually keeps me exercising.

That and my lovely leotard