Tag Archives: Gym

Superman Body Builder

If Beyoncé has her alter ego …

So do I. This is my Monday buddie, because I need all the energy I can get to face the week.

This is my exact facial expression all through the day as I type away on my keyboard. No wonder no one bothers me the whole day.

Have a Super week everyone … pun intended 😛

sick alien emoticon

This Pic is a True Account of me – Not Photoshop-ped

Don’t you hate it when you think you’ve dodged a bullet only to find you’ve been slashed in the rib-cage instead?

Or maybe this just happens to me -_-

Spring is just around the corner; seriously it’s so close I can smell it.

I was secretly (because I didn’t want to jinx it. A fat load of good that did me) thrilled that I had managed to remain flu free this entire cold, harsh winter season but alas, the nasty bugger took me down last Saturday.

It’s so severe that ten days later, it’s still sinking its molars into me. And to top it all off, I had the most bizarre dream last night.

I dreamt I was RPM-ing the entire day (on a spin bike people, on a spin bike) so naturally I woke up exhausted. I mean literally, completely effing brutally smashed. Why? Who does that universe, who?

YOU that’s who!

I mean give me a break! I may have been able to forgive you if you’d just told me the name of that hot guy I was cycling next to but whatever. I would have just slobbered all over him anyway so the joke’s on you.

Well not really but I like it when I have the last say.

Now if you’ll please excuse me while I curl into a ball of woeful flu stricken misery on the floor under my desk right now. Splutter, splutter, splutter …

They say exercise is good for you …

I always knew there was a reason I didn’t believe them.

Chalk Outline of Person

As a sidebar, at least my flexibility has improved.

Me after a workout … just before I was wheeled out of the gym. Thank goodness for going to a gym where (I just realised may be a sign), a lot of paramedics attend.

Image Taken From: http://www.dreamstime.com/royalty-free-stock-photography-chalk-outline-person-image3763297

Know how to Bullshit …

These were one of the first words our Journalism lecturer uttered to us bright eyed, raring to go Journalism enthusiasts when we joined University.

“A good journalist can bullshit about anything”, he blasted over the microphone in the cavernous lecture hall as we sat there gawking at how someone in a “teacher’s” position could so easily swear in a mock classroom. I know, I know, boy did we have some catching up to do on reality!

Anyway, this story (although pretty pointless as well) has nothing to do with my wild and unrestrained journalism days (let me live the fantasy okay?).

I decided to put this theory to test with my gym instructor after hours of targeted researching on the net over the weekend (basically just bumming around really) on how exercising is really and truly detrimental to my health. Turns out my gym instructor, in addition to being allergic to sanity, happiness, content taste buds and a well rested skeletal structure (just to mention a few) is also highly allergic to apparent, well researched “bullshit”.

Either that, or I’m not as good a journalist as I think -_-

My vocabulary has been distilled down to four letters: D-I-E-T.

And no, it doesn’t stand for diet, though I am a little creeped out right about now seeing as I just realised Edit and Diet are made up of the same letters!

I hope it’s not a sign from the universe but considering I have been doing little more than sitting on my ‘you know what’ and editing the crap out of my novel, I’m going to bet the contents of my pocket it is.

Which, in case you’re wondering (because why wouldn’t you?) includes a worn out (literal meaning – pristine copy) of my exercise program, a half chewed/licked Violet Crumble and a recycled chewing gum.

I have no idea why no one ever wants to gamble with me.

I need a Fix for my “fix”

I’m broken. I’m sure of it. It can be the only explanation for putting myself through the torturous ordeal of working out on a daily basis.

Apparently, pesky little endorphins are to blame, those minute satanic blips in my body that decided to pop out of nowhere, without any warning or requests for permissions to be present that I have unknowingly become addicted to.

So will someone please provide me with a fix for my fix? Of all the vices, who knew I would choose the treadmill for my drug of choice? That’s just lame -_-

Being Good can be Painful …

So, I was a good girl yesterday and finally decided to bravely jump onto the treadmill at my gym after a four week sabbatical.

Let me just say, if you aren’t particularly fond of tragic endings – to stop reading now.

After a horrendous ten minutes (is it just me, or does time conspire to travel at a MUCH slower rate when you’re on the brink of passing out due to a lack of oxygen consumption?), I have made the following discovery:

1. You should be able to sue Mother Nature for feeling as much pain as exercise causes you.

2. There are muscle groups you really, truly should not be able to feel as a general, unarguable rule. In fact, I would like to put a petition in to eradicate them due to their detrimental repercussions. Just like our Appendix.

3. I’d like to also be able to freely reprimand whoever created the wonderful, albeit, sometimes frustratingly useless human appendages we have all been forcefully “gifted”. Don’t get me wrong, I am very grateful for all of them, I would just like to revisit the pain sensors blueprint please. Pronto.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go check if my thighs are still attached to the rest of me.

Personal Trainers are Satan’s minions

I told my personal trainer friend that “her people” (by this I mean Satan’s minions) were wrong when they said exercise was good for my body. I mean, the age-old adage of everything in moderation had to be true for all of life’s twists and turns otherwise my whole perspective on the world would have to be blown to smithereens right there and then.

My friend told me to elaborate and though I was acutely aware of walking smack bang into the middle of a mine field, apparently endorphins do shite for your brain cells which is extremely lethal for someone with my um well, limited brain capacity – but enough about me.

I told her that I was feeling pain in body parts that I was pretty sure didn’t exist in the species I have been led to believe I belong to since I popped out of my mother’s womb and how I was going to write to my local council and state that anyone who exercises a fellow human being to start “feeling” these body parts should be extradited (to hell presumably) immediately.

Now I know what you’re thinking, how dumb am I? For your kind information, my friend’s smirk did set warning bells clambering up my spine and though I did attempt to run in the opposite direction, the dumbbells she had attached to my ankles blocked my noble retreat and she politely asked (with a skipping rope in her hand that she had sinisterly changed into a makeshift whip that would put Spartacus to shame) that I drop and give her twenty.

Suffice to say I escaped with my life just to recount this story to you for witness purposes on the event of my untimely death. Got to go, she’s back …

Fly owner sues Red Bull for false advertising after losing wings

Red Bull is in deep waters after a patron of the drink captured a fly that had consumed a few droplets from the dining room table of UK based Mr Harpreet Singh.

”I have been a loyal customer of Red Bull for close to five years and have been waiting patiently for the slogan of the ad to come true,” Mr Singh exasperatedly explained to Faking News Journalists at his press conference, referring to the popular slogan of ‘Red Bull gives you wings’.

”I was shocked and angry to see Pintu (the name Mr Singh has termed his pet fly after imprisoning the insect as proof to be used in legal proceedings) actually lose the wings Mother Nature had gifted him after consumption,” Mr Singh said.

Red Bull has been successfully running the popular advertising campaign the world over, translating their motto into a variety of languages, no doubt garnering a fan base awaiting their turn to grow wings eagerly.

Faking News’ investigative journalists have uncovered a confidential agreement the global conglomerate attempted to make with Mr Singh in order to hush the false advertising case before it hit the global media, but Mr Singh courageously refused to accept the deal rumoured to be in the billions of dollars.

“I have a duty to my fellow Red Bull drinkers”, Mr Singh confirmed at the conference. “”I cannot allow for any poor, unsuspecting individuals to be falsely anticipating that their wings will grow.”

At this point Mr Singh had to cut the conference short unexpectedly, unable to restrain his intense sobbing at his predicament, mumbling uncontrollably as he left saying, “my friends have actually been telling their old parents that they will come to India this year to see them, only because they were going to save on the airfare. Their poor parents.”

Faking News attempted to contact Red Bull, but by the time of printing this article they had not responded.

Though I know how surprised you must be to hear this, this isn’t a true story! 😀

I came across this wonderful site called Faking News, thanks to a superb blogger (on WordPress by the name of Shivansh Chaudhary), not to mention extremely talented writer and was inspired by some of his wonderful satirical posts.

Apart from the horrendous spelling error in the title, I’m enjoying the result, if you’d like to read this post and more about the wonderful website, please feel free to click on my piece. See you around guys!

How was your weekend?

Mine was good until I decided to watch my karma.

So … I decided it was mean to cancel on my personal trainer friend. Just a word of warning to my valued readers, next time don’t be fooled by that smug bugger sitting on your right shoulder, at least the Devil perched on your left one doesn’t pretend to be nice when it’s channeling “Chucky”, the evil doll!

Because I truly believe you can learn something from every experience, here’s a pointer or two:

1. Personal Trainers never “mistakenly” set a meeting spot near an obstacle course.

2. Trust your “spidey sense” that is ricocheting against the walls of your skull when it tells you there is something DEFINITELY wrong with this picture if a personal trainer entices you with “Come over, it’ll be fun. We can have ice cream later on”.

I worked out on my day off, which should be a punishable offence in a court of law by the way, and paid for my ice cream twice with a “casual run” (try blood pumping, heart attack inducing sprint that would put Usain Bolt to shame).

My friend promised me that my backside would thank me today. Apparently, dead things can’t talk … or give pep talks, and because my body was bludgeoned to death yesterday, let’s just say, I’m still waiting for my thank you.