I know I have said it before, and undoubtedly I will say it again, but exercise is bad for you. Not only is it bad for you physically – I could barely walk up the stairs to the flat after todays outing at the gym – but it is bad for you socially as well. Think about it for a moment.

You are a single female and, whilst you may not be a supermodel you don’t believe that you are stomach wrenchingly ugly either. Despite this, whilst acknowledging your non-nauseating appearance, you have a low opinion of how you look, which isn’t helped by being a few pounds heavier than ideally you would like to be. This, assorted other self-esteem issues which would take more money for therapy than Bill Gates could afford, spending more time in front of a computer screen than is strictly healthy, and preferring a quiet night in than going clubbing, means that the chances for meeting eligible men are few and far between. The usual avenues of work and uni are restricted for numerous reasons. So what is a girl to do? Well, she decides to go to the gym to try and shed those extra few pounds. A noble enterprise. If, in the process, contact is made with individuals of the opposite sex, all the better. Except you’ve forgotten one thing.

You turn the colour of a tomato at the slightest sign of exertion. Factor in already low confidence in body image and unflattering clothing and… No. Apparently the knowledge that you go to the gym/do any exercise is a good sign to the opposite sex because it shows you look after you self and conjures up all kinds of mental images of athleticism and things I won’t go into because you never know who reads these things (I think both my brother and father have the link for starters). This I can see the logic of. I am the same way – I freely admit I go all wobbly-kneed for (among others) climbers. It’s the collarbones you know…
*snaps out of dream*
Anyway, back to my point (I do have one in the midst of this ramble somewhere). You would have to have serious doubts as to the mental health of a man who found me (yes, all the above is a personal rant, you saw through the ruse :P) attractive if he ran across me at the gym. Never in a million years would anyone ask me out if they had seen me for the first time falling off the cross-trainer. I even expect that the sight of me at the end of a workout would cause anyone harbouring secret desire for me to run away! run away!

So there we have it, Cas’ Catch 22. She meets no blokes/those she does meet she lacks the confidence to talk to. So she goes to the gym to (1) try and do the best with what her genes have handed her so that (2) her confidence level increases and (who knows) (3) she might meet new people. But going to the gym to do all of the above actually makes her feel even worse about herself because, face it, no one looks good at the gym!

And if all of the above wasn’t bad enough, me going to the gym is bad for you, because when you’re doing your thing on todays instrument of torture (sorry exercise machine), you tend to be staring at the wall. In my case, glasses have to come off – they look snazzy but aren’t built to remain on at velocity – so I am staring shortsightedly at a fuzzy blob I assume is the wall. Listening to music does help pass the time, but that doesn’t turn the brain off totally, which means I have lots and lots of time to think of things to rant about in my blog. Hah!
I am a firm believer in sharing the pain around *devil*