After a Christmas of pushing food into my facehole and topping the resultant midden off with lots of lovely beer, I have taken it upon myself to go to the gym. Well, I say that, what actually happened was my healthy mate bet me and another exercise-shy pal twenty notes that we couldn't hack it at the gym two nights a week for a month.
Well, ha ha, we showed him. We've been going for nearly two weeks already and January is practically over.
Every time I've been so far it's been raining and dark, but from the outside, it's a pretty grim looking place. Inside you notice it was clearly a meat warehouse from the white-tiled walls and the rails for hanging meat on. Anyway, upstairs it's still a bit rough looking, but at least The Long Good Friday vibe leaves you. It's a blokes gym, so it's not what you'd call stylish, but the equipment works and more surprisingly, so did I. It's easier to go to the gym with a few people. You egg each other on, at the same time not wishing to look soft, you lift or shove as much weight as you can.
It hurts after each visit, and my neck is aching this morning, so goodness knows what I've done to that. But I don't care. It's an hour of mind wash time, where you don't particularly have to think about anything above how much what you're doing is doing you good / causing pain. Yay for exercise!