Full Pump

I go on holiday tomorrow!! Woohoo!! As we all know, it's a busy time before a holiday.

There are certain preparations that need doing.

I realised that having been working full-time (ouch) and on top of that steeming away like a madman at night means that there are certain things that have slipped to the wayside.

One of these being.

Oh yes. Once a stalwart of the Iron Palace I have not visited too often of late. Still, when the universe has gifted you a magnificence such as mine to work with that shouldn't be a problem.

So off I trotted.

Once in there, I moved over to the familiar pull up bar. However there seemed to be something wrong with it.

I hung there limply by my thickly muscled wrists but it must have been broken because no amount of jumping, straining or upward tugging made my body rise upward.

Oh well, off to another bit. Ah, the free weight section. It was inhabited as was the usual by grunting muscled behemoths lifting inordinately massive circles of iron. Some of them were gazing at themselves sternly in the mirrors whilst lifting things. No doubt imagining they were playing a sterling game of chess or perhaps boules against some other fine fellows.

I felt right at home and proudly rolled a couple 18kg barbells over to my bench. This was how it was done. I would get that beach body back in no time.

Oddly these seemed to be broken as well. I could barely lift them off the ground let alone above my superbly glistening head.

One of the grunts tipped his head to the lady weight section. He muttered something in trollish.

I threw my head back and laughed. It is best not to show fear to such creatures. Obviously, if push came to shove I could throw some moves out there that would terrify an angry elephant but I like to spare the knaves such terror.

Given that the weights were broken I thought it a good idea to move onto something else.

As I passed one of the may full-length mirrors I tugged up my vest and had a sneaky glance at my abdomen. Hmm, even a beer lover such as me would admit there was not much of any kind of pack there. Dash it gym, why is all your equipment gubbed?*
_{*Gubbed - Glasgow term for utterly broken. Fucked, to put it bluntly}

My final stop of the day was one of the machines. This for sure was working as there was a lithe young lady tugging down a mere 40 kilos. I tried my best not to snort.

She glanced up somewhat aggressively. Goodness, is there no such thing as civility anymore?

Eventually she was done and took her lurid lycra-clad frame off to some other machine to preen.

I left the weight at 40 kilos. It would be good to start low and work up to the hundreds. I stood, giving my shorts a quick jerk out of my chuff and grasped the bar to pull down the weight.

IS this one broken too? What a shambles! It wouldn't budge, even when I gave it 110%. This was just not on.

I gathered my water bottle, portable stereo, phone and two towels in disgust and strode out the damned place.

Bloody gyms.