Me vs. the machines

A good friend cleaverly tricked me into coming with her to the gym today. I haven't been there for some time now, due to Berlin conference and other sheit. It was really hard to get my tiny little arse there, and also to make the first round of exercises. My body felt stiff and heavy. But by the time the upper-body-work-out-bit was about to finish, I started to wake up and get a hang of it. I lifted the weights like a maniac.

It's a weird place that gym. Or I guess any gym in general is. There is so much testosterone in the air, that I fear my body will slowly transcend into masculinity if I spend too much time there. People are drinking protein shots, shouting in agony while lifting, and walking around with arms in a 'I-am-carrying-a-big-box'-position, without actually carrying one. Tiny legs, and a huuuuge torso on top. They seem unaware of the concept of proportion. I could never scream like them either, or at least not prior to my feared transcendance. I can give off a small sigh while lifting the heavy whatever for the 12th and last time. But scream? No. Is that really not only a contraproductive cry for attention? Shouting ought to cost your body some energy too, right? And what is then left for your arms lifting that heavy weight? But maybe it gives some psychological lift, which of course should not be underestimated.

I know for instance, that a reversed psychological lift, let's call it a psychological push-down, cracked me at the end of my workout today. It happens so easily, and is so hard to revert once it is in progress. We had just finished the upperbody excercises, and my friend was going to continue with leg-exercises. I had planned to go home at this stage, but feeling rather uplifted by my crazy weight-lifting and sudden and unexpected late wakening, I reconsidered my decision and chose to stick it out and join her for the last bit too. The last wee bit needed to be started by leg warming, which she decided to do on an exercise bike, while I preferred running. I started out a bit too optimistical. Still high on my unexpected energy surge, I set the thing for 12km/h for 4km, you non-metrics do your own math if you like, but all you need to know really is that that pace is my top pace when averagely fit. Quick running for 20 minutes. So it was quite optimistical now, under my current less-than-average-fit circumstances. The first minute was fine, I floated on the surge. But then, and I could really feel it happening. It felt like some heavy viscous fluid started running down over my legs, like warm rubber. It made them heavy and unstable, and I couldn't run straight anymore. Having "realized" the warm rubber pouring down over me, the psychological push was in full action, breaking me down, until I had to press "Emergency Stop", and get of the fucking thing less than 3 minutes into the planned 20. Damned it. Next time though, next time!