Right – that does it!
Yesterday I went up to the health club again in the mid-afternoon. I looked at my ‘watch’-type thing that tells me not only the time, but also how many steps I’ve taken and calories I’ve burned off each day and it said “1613” (i.e. 4.13pm) as I reached the steps leading to the cardio room and my favourite stepping machine.
I speculated towards the end of my post to the Rust yesterday as to future tactics – should I go to the gym at the same time yesterday as I had the day before .. and would my opponent the Old Bald-Headed Git (or ‘OBHD’ for short) – having lost out to me for possession of the only ‘old’ stepping machine in the establishment the day before – also arrive at the same time as he did the day before … or would the Machiavellian swine deliberately arrive at 4.00pm (instead of 4.30pm) with the express intention of beating me to it.
Dear reader – that’s exactly what he bloody well did!
As I spotted him on ‘my’ machine from the bottom, of the stairs, I snuck sideways so that he didn’t see me … or indeed the involuntary tears of rage and frustration welling in my peepers.
There was nothing else for it. With no means of warming up with 30 minutes of cardio exercise – normally I do half an hour on the stepping machine which burns off somewhere between 400 and 430 calories each time – I had to go straight to the weights rooms and begin exercising there, as it were, ‘cold’.
You know how you go somewhere to do something – maybe book your favourite table at a preferred restaurant – and then when you arrive they’ve placed you on a different one and there’s nothing you can do about it?
Somehow, for no rational reason, it destroys the whole outing – somehow even the food tastes different and inferior. In advance your anticipatory buds were working overtime, imagining both the overall the atmosphere and the food, and in the event – consigned to some crappy table you didn’t even want – the whole experience is affected.
That’s how it was for me at the health club yesterday. I couldn’t get enthused about my weights regime, did it half-heartedly and then didn’t bother to do my sit-ups at all. I then changed into my bathers and did 10 minutes in the sauna, wallowed in the jacuzzi without swimming in the pool at all (partly because it was full of kids having swimming lessons) … and left the place after exactly 50 minutes instead of my normal 90.
In other words, I practically needn’t have bothered going up there.
However, if the OBHD imagines he’s won this little battle, he’s got another think coming.
Nobody get the better of Ingolby.
If he goes up to the club at 4.00pm again today, I’ll make sure I have arrived at 3.45pm. And, if the next day he opts to arrive at 3.30pm to get ahead of me again, I’ll arrive at 3.00pm.
If necessary I’ll even be waiting outside the main door at 7.30am, the advertised time that it opens each day, to get one over on him.
As I hinted above, he cannot beat me. However hard he might try, I’ll go that extra mile to best him.
Bring it on, loser! ….