I went to the gym today with great intentions, but ended up making a bit of a fool of myself. Not that that's unusual.

My plan had been to try one of my Sweatz Training vests while pounding away on a running machine. But in my excitement to get to the gym and sweat out all my belly fat I forgot to put the vests in my gym bag.

Plan B. Still pound away on the running machine, build up a sweat and burn off a few calories anyway.

First things first though. My usual 15 minute warm up followed by some skipping and some bag work.

To be honest I usually give the running machines a miss and this was possibly my first real encounter with one. In living menmory anyway.

I avoided the treadmill style machines, leaving them for the more wimpish types, and headed straight for the cross-trainer where you move the footplates with your feet while holding onto two poles with your hands. The cross-trainer is actually meant to be better for you, resulting in less injuries such as shin splints.

I soon got it going and thought everything was going rather well. I was pumping away with feet and arms, sweat building up nicely. I thought I'd give it ten minutes seeing as it was my first time on such a machine and as the clock on the wall told me I had only seconds to go, I noticed I had attracted quite a crowd of onlookers. Well two or three admirers anyway.

Ten minutes up and I gave the gathered masses a big grin as I came to a sweaty halt.

Without my glasses I couldn't quite make out how far I'd run, but given the effort I'd put in I figured a mile at least. All I needed was one of my watchers with better eyesight to confirm the distance travelled and I'd be on my way.

"860 metres," came the reply.

"860 metres? Are you looking at the right number?"

"Yes. 860 metres."

"Stupid thing must be broke," I said, rather unconvincingly.

I left with my tail between my legs to cool down and then go for a shower. But it was then that I discovered that the plastic vest wasn't the only thing I'd forgotten to put in my bag. I'd come away without a towel too.

No shower for fatty.

So I sweaty man who had run just 860 metres made his way home in the same clothes he'd just spent an hour or so soiling.

And what made things worse was I didn't go straight home either. Just to add to my torment, I had to pop into the supermarket for some milk so now is as good a time as any to apologise to anyone who I encountered while doing so.

Comment on this post