Xmas is over,
memberships to gyms rise.
Folks seeking penance for gorging on
turkey and mince pies.
Trudging on the treadmill feels like you've
been on it so long.
But the display smirks only 30 calories
burned, the damn thing must be wrong! The Flora Marathon runner
alongside you it's a pretty safe bet.
That this bitch has burned 2000 calories
without working up a sweat!
Grunting men lift weights bulging biceps
and egos to match.
No time for romance, too busy flexing and
posing yet they think they're a catch.
Exercise classes
called Spinning, or rather cycling on E's
we utter.
Women with no nether regions pedalling
like obsessed nutters.
Step aerobics stepping on and off boxes
like a real prat.
Lugging a dyson up your stairs at home
would burn off more fat.
Blusher over-applied
on these women to the point of insanity.
Preening in lycra the only exercise on
display here is in vanity.
Pilates (no one knows what it is), Yoga -
stretching for an hour.
Why not stretch your limbs in the
bathroom by cleaning your shower?
Squash playing
executives angrily thrashing out their
stressful lives
Display testosterone fuelled manliness
til going home and getting nagged by
wives.
In the swimming pool brats urinating
while lifeguards gossip or stare into
space.
Parents sat watching with vile watery tea
and bored expressions on their face.
Walking into the
pool, paranoid all your blubbers on show.
Old ladies with flowery, Victorian swim
caps, you change lanes they're too slow.
Fast lane swimmers furiously overtake you
in their beady goggles and phallic
headgear.
Mistaking this for their own private
training pool as if you've no right to be
here.
Erratic showers and
out of use hairdryers the changing rooms
really are the pits.
Vending machine snacks prices equivalent
to a meal at the Ritz.
Ringing to cancel your membership they
get in such a lather.
The friendly bimbo who once signed you
has become the Godfather.
Some choose outdoor
exercise, joggers out all weather lycra
bulging.
While we drive guiltily past thinking of
all the cream cakes we will be indulging.
Horseriders trot past glaring demonically
if you dare drive higher than 2nd gear.
Forcing you to bow down and crawl behind
them gazing up their equestrian rear.
Cyclists in the
middle of the road thinking they're cars,
move to the left you git!
Signalling last minute and flinging their
arm out your wingmirror almost hit.
The Swiss Family Robinson take up the
whole road out for their Sunday treat.
Yet their kids would rather be home
playing their Nintendo and getting high
on sweets.
Cleaning my house
is enough bloody exercise for me.
I'd prefer to sit in the comfort of my
armchair with nice cup of tea!
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