Oh Mickey…

Oh Mickey, you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind, hey Mickey! Hey Mickey!

I heard that song on the bus on the way back from the gym and now I can’t get it out of my head, so I feel the need to share the pain. Mwhahahahaa!!! (I told you the gym was bad for you!) Once more on the topic of exercise, at last I am not alone in the wilderness! Jo is no longer a gym-virgin, for she was inducted today.
Three cheers for Jo!

Finally I am vindicated – ever since the first time I got on a cross-trainer, I have been saying how they are evil, evil I tell you! (*gibber*), and when I espouse this theory, people have been looking at me a little more strangely than they usually do. The only support I have had has been from my mother who had the following little anecdote to share about cross-trainers:

A gym-virgin herself until just a few months ago, my wonderful mother finally took the plunge and joined the (theoretically) lycra-clad brigade at the local gym. She had just been on a cross-trainer for the first time ever and managed a very creditable 3 or 4 minutes (embarrassingly my pb is 4.30). As the talkative type, she strikes up a conversation with the dashing young man on the cross-trainer next to her. She was openly impressed that he had been going on this thing for upwards of half an hour and said so. Very forthright my mother. Only for said stud to ruefully admit that for his first time he had managed 30 seconds before falling off!

Now, aside from the fact that my mother gets to chat to handsome men at the gym but I don’t, I took this to be two for my side on the whole cross-trainers: Lucifer or Gabriel debate, but against me the ranks are legion. Then I bullied Jo into having a go on one (I am mean). Hurrah! I am alone no more! Whilst she didn’t look in immanent danger of falling off, she didn’t look like a happy bunny. Following the little experiment, she confirmed my suspicions: Cross Trainers are the creation of Satan, or at least one of Satan’s lycra-clad lesser minions who realised late one Friday afternoon just before clocking off for the weekend that he needed to devise something fiendish to fill his quotas. They may not be up there with WMD, smallpox, or Dan Brown*, but they are definitely on a par with certain evil pairs of shoes that rub no matter how many plasters you wear, penguins, and certain members of the cafeteria staff who hate me.

*Let me clarify in case you got the wrong end of the stick. I have nothing against Da Vinci Code on religious grounds. People are free to think what they want to think, and credit to the guy for making money out of (someone else’s) odd idea. My problem is this: THE MAN CANNOT WRITE FOR TOFFEE!** The Da Vinci Code is just badly written.*** Angels and Demons is no better. I haven’t read any of his other books but apparently they are just as bad.

**Or any other sweet you would care to mention. I am not prejudiced about confectionary.

***Again, I should clarify before someone yells at me. This is just my opinion. I am not a trained author, literary critic, or English teacher, but I like to think I have a moderately good grasp of the English language, and that I can appreciate what is well written and what is not. Dan Brown is not one of this generations finer writers. He is not even one of this generations mediocre writers. He was just intelligent enough to write his latest book on a topic that got him notoriety. Cynical, probably, but there you go. This is my blog, and that is my opinion, so there 😛

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