The Gym

I have a phobia for gyms. I smirk at them and the people who use them. I see no reason why anybody would want to spend hours on a tread mill or lifting weights. “What for” I ask?

Kabira Country Club arguably has one of the best equipped gyms in the country as do Serena and Sheraton hotels. And I hear in the mornings and as early as five am, they are packed to the rafters with people who I presume are slobs, overweight and did not bother looking after their bodies when they were younger like I did. 

I am lean. I don’t have a shred of fat on me and I recently took part in the London marathon albeit, by watching it on television and with a beer in one hand. And to be honest, while I do know some fat people, I pretend to like them because it is not socially acceptable to dislike people who are fat. But seeing that I am entitled to an opinion, I will say it again – fat people and I don’t gel. Ok!

There is somebody I recently met who goes by the names of Billy Christian. Billy is a likeable person. He also has a body that looks like a pile of concrete and reinforced steel meshed together so I figured he must go to the gym. And he does because he is a full time fitness trainer at the Royal Suites. When I met Billy, I made the mistake of telling him that: “One day, I want to have a body like yours.”

It was an off-the-cuff comment and I should have known better because the last time I made that kind of statement, Peter Mukulu, a trainer at Munyonyo put me through the paces that even Rambo or Chuck Norris would have had difficulty with.

While the gym at Royal Suites is not as decked out as Serena, Sheraton, Speke or Kabira, it nevertheless holds its own. For the past five days, Billy has put through a rigid system and I can already feel the benefits because I can now open a bottle of Coke without the opener hurting my hand. I can also carry a bag of shopping a couple of yards to the car and not feel any pain. 

When I speak, I find myself ashamedly speaking of things that confuse me like squat thrusts, press-up’s, dead-lifts, pull-ups, double unders, snatch, kip and chipper. I feel ashamed because in reality, when Billy put me through the paces, I was a lost cause, a waste of space!

It is a tall order to look at people who are fat and running on the tread mill in a bid to lose weight. I feel like shouting at them: “Hey don’t bother. Keep on eating the donuts, the French fries, the fried chicken and the pizza’s because you will never lose the weight. You are destined to be fat for the rest of your life. And don’t worry about the high blood pressure or cholesterol either for no matter what you do, you are destined to end up six foot under in a wooden box.”

Like I have already said, going to the gym is not for me but for the slobs and the fat people who need it most. I will continue doing the marathons and any fitness exercise my body needs by watching it on television and with a beer at hand. It’s much easier and the best thing about it, at the end you feel ‘fit’ if not slightly blazed, and you didn’t even have to break sweat!