To be a Workout Nazi - Part 1

Apart from the fact that I almost fainted on the very first day of it, working out at the gym has rather been a unique experience. I've met some peculiar people there, have encountered some eccentric work-out routines and have come across some distinctive personalities not directly associated with the particular form of 'healthcare'.

Sometimes, your whole life boils down to that one insane experience to write a blogpost about.

In two parts, in this case.

After being cajoled into obtaining a membership at the local gym, I remember to have regretted it immediately afterwards. I mean what was I thinking? Were my 'club-sandwich-for-breakfast' and 'chicken-wings-for-snacks' days over? Was I really going to commit to such self-inflicted atrocity? It certainly seemed like that at the moment. And quite unfortunately, now I had an entire family in support of my decision! Now although you'd think my physique always needed a facelift, I assure you it was just my ambitious tummy that singlehandedly forced me into it.

And also perhaps a glimpse into the future - of days to come - of me being surrounded by bikini-clad tanned undergrads at the golden beaches of the sunshine county.

Back on earth, after the membership at the gym, I rested for a day. I passed a filthy eateria at the corner of the street that evening and pledged myself off it's menu. I bought a new pair of Umbro running shoes and 'test-ran' in them for a few rounds on the terrace. They were so perfectly comfortable that I almost cried.

It's like the less I speak of the first day, the better. I overdid everything. I ran 20 kilometers (without pausing) on the treadmill. Then I went on the cycle for 10 minutes. And then I sat down and blacked out quietly. Next thing I know, the gym instructor was feeding me a banana and a couple of able-bodied members of the gym were surrounding me to check on me. I could hear a smug giggle elsewhere. I was so embarrassed. I felt like Brad Pitt from Burn After Reading (2008). (Even in duress, I think of myself as Brad Pitt. The Shameless Blogger is making some sense now, isn't it?)

While I had come in my neon-coloured running shoes, I had to leave in a rusted rickshaw.

Let's now skip to the time when I'm a pro regular at the gym. Because that's more attractive. It was time for me to look down upon that new fat kid who attempted suicide every day by setting the treadmill settings at 100 kmph at a 15 degrees incline. I half-expected him to miss one step some day and stumble upon the machine amassing a major casualty. That poor guy used to make way for me as I would walk around like royalty.

After my ten minutes at the grind, I used to take a 20 minutes break. At the bench press and weight lifting machine, there would be a couple of serious looking body-builders, wearing skin-tight clothes. Their clothes were the most skin-tight clothes one may ever get to see. Or might not want to see. It enhanced every single feature on their body - sometimes forcing you to leave the room and go to the room with the steam bath to hide your blushing face. Surprisingly, they were rather effeminate when they'd speak, thus establishing a sort of compensation.

After my 20 minutes break, I would go about pulling this and pushing that and lie down here and curl up there at some instrument or the other. There were also a few others who were like me - dedicated and hard working, although the results were oblivious to their efforts. There were some who were just keeping up with the routine. One of them, a very large sized man, used to come and call for the gay gym instructor the minute he'd step in.

'Pappu!' he'd call.

'Yes Tublai da..' the gym instructor comes running.

'Have you turned off the AC?'

'No Tublai da..'

'Then why does it feel so hot?'

'I don't know Tublai da..'

'Go get a Pulpy orange for me!'

'Absolutely Tublai da..'

There were a few others who told me that this large man - Mr. Tublai - was the local wrestler long ago. His career went down a spiral when he eloped with his coach's daughter. Now, he owns a general store and moonlights as a political muscle. Everybody avoids him, except the unfortunate gym instructor, for whom his demands escalate with time, 'Pappu, get me a Pulpy orange!' 'Pappu, why don't you decrease the temperature on the AC?' 'You should've had a TV here, Pappu!' 'A fridge would do good in the gym, don't you think Pappu?' 'We should go on a picnic along with the members of the ladies' gym.. Pappu, go talk to the manager about it!'

The conversations that I've overheard while working out might have permanently scarred me for life.

Among the two gym instructors, one of them (the handsome one) was a serial womanizer. Most of the time, he'd be at the ladies' gym, which was just a couple houses down the road. He was, at the time, courting a married woman whose husband had forcefully send her to lose weight at the gym. If everything I overheard is to be assumed as the truth, she's losing more than just her weight! The other gym instructor (Pappu) on the other hand, seems to be afraid of Mr. Tublai, but wants to kill him all the same. He was also perhaps in love with the handsome gym instructor, if 'body language' has taught me anything.

I also remember a guy during those initial days of gym. He used to go Ryan Gosling from Crazy, Stupid, Love (2011) on us in the locker room. Although not fully nude, he would strip down to his bare minimum and do some free-hand exercises that would require lots of bending and twisting. Things, you don't want to see on your first day at gym. So, trust me when I say I braved it out there in those initial period. Trying to gel in, I stripped down myself to those shorts showing some skinny legs, lest they think I was homophobic!

This post is turning out to be a really long one! So I'm splitting it into two halves. The rest of it would tell how and why I had to leave the gym after just a month of working out. Till then, enjoy this one.