For years a lot of people bugged me to take care of my physique. They wanted me to join a gym or do yoga or something. I resisted with vigor. “I don’t need no gym. I don’t need no weight control. ” I sang in a Pink Floyd like tune. That was until a month back. Right in the middle of fight with my younger brother I realized he was taller than me. Thwack! A punch crashed into my face and I went down to the ground. 46 kgs don’t take too long to touch the ground, eh. Shameful! A little later I watched the 1976’s classic ‘ROCKY’. I felt really fired up. So off I marched to the gym.
A closed white door beckoned me. I opened it and ... no the world didn’t change! Inside were posters of a species of men that could easily pass off as alpha males. Body builders, wrestlers d of course Arnold Schwarzenegger fought for space on the walls. My gym instructor ushered me in. Now my gym instructor looks like he can do all kinds of things. I mean walk the ramp, jump off buildings and save kids, box, wrestle and maybe even lift the earth if Atlas gets bored. Like a Greek Adonis his body is so perfectly proportioned that I wonder whether Michelangelo chips away at his body every morning. As far I am concerned I look like one of those children they feature in the WORLD POVERTY ALLEVIATION ads. Thin mind you, very thin. If you have to compare me to anyone then it would be to a Tolkien’s hobbit.
But I digress. “Pull-ups”, garbled the instructor. So off I went to a machine and promptly hoisted myself upwards. That’s when in the middle of nowhere I realized I couldn’t bring myself down. My benign instructor promptly pulled me down.
Push-ups next. I managed fine. I was feeling buoyed now.
Well next we moved onto the “DUMB BELLS” and this is where I made a complete fool of myself. The hunk gave me a heavy 5kg one. Mind you I didn’t ask for it. I tried hard to lift it. It dutifully refused to budge from its resting place. I tried harder now with both the hands and I slipped.
Ha-ha! The entire place was abuzz with laughter. The benevolent man again proffered me his hand. My male ego severely bruised and with my ROCKY spirit down in the dumps I got up with war cry ringing in my head. A few quick runs on the treadmill and some more of those bone creaking exercises I was off home.
For two excruciating months I followed the exercise schedule religiously. For the past two months I have been unable to move any of my arm muscles properly. Instead of developing into big bulging blobs of envy my arms have contorted into something non functional. My whole body feels as if an oxen clog has been made to ride on every sinew. Mind you I am not doing this to feature in some glamorous model hunt for an underwear brand. Ah! That reminds me of something. Why do these fellows with perfect six pack abs and all look so sullen once they are put in front of a camera with nothing but underpants? As if somebody with an even bigger and bulkier frame ran away with their pants. Ok, I digress again.
One fine day at Thane railway station I decided to do a weight check. Somewhere in my six pockets lay a fortune. I dug out a rupee from it and tucked it into the machine. It said “42 kgs.” Aargh! My weight gain program has reduced me by 4kgs. Wonderful!! Some of my female friends envy me. They say it’s so difficult to have a 24inch waist. Folks say stop worrying and start living. I have stopped gymming and started living.
But I digress. “Pull-ups”, garbled the instructor. So off I went to a machine and promptly hoisted myself upwards. That’s when in the middle of nowhere I realized I couldn’t bring myself down. My benign instructor promptly pulled me down.
Push-ups next. I managed fine. I was feeling buoyed now.
Well next we moved onto the “DUMB BELLS” and this is where I made a complete fool of myself. The hunk gave me a heavy 5kg one. Mind you I didn’t ask for it. I tried hard to lift it. It dutifully refused to budge from its resting place. I tried harder now with both the hands and I slipped.
For two excruciating months I followed the exercise schedule religiously. For the past two months I have been unable to move any of my arm muscles properly. Instead of developing into big bulging blobs of envy my arms have contorted into something non functional. My whole body feels as if an oxen clog has been made to ride on every sinew. Mind you I am not doing this to feature in some glamorous model hunt for an underwear brand. Ah! That reminds me of something. Why do these fellows with perfect six pack abs and all look so sullen once they are put in front of a camera with nothing but underpants? As if somebody with an even bigger and bulkier frame ran away with their pants. Ok, I digress again.
One fine day at Thane railway station I decided to do a weight check. Somewhere in my six pockets lay a fortune. I dug out a rupee from it and tucked it into the machine. It said “42 kgs.” Aargh! My weight gain program has reduced me by 4kgs. Wonderful!! Some of my female friends envy me. They say it’s so difficult to have a 24inch waist. Folks say stop worrying and start living. I have stopped gymming and started living.
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