Gym card for Christmas from Nick the Knife; plus his personal supervision at the two sessions I have survived so far.
It wasn’t a gift, it was a message!
No unkind words were said, but the implication was loud and clear: you are declining into antiquity with sloth-like enthusiasm, you eat way too much, you are on a mission to exhaust the nation’s alcohol supply, in short, you are growing old disgracefully!
The subtle message: this is not a passenger train, shovel coal or get off!
He would never say such unkind things but he doesn’t have to; I sailed my Laser for the first time in months and I think even the boat felt embarrassed!
So off to gym we go – the building has a large window overlooking the harbour – I was fascinated by the elegant cruise ship coming through the entrance and I envied the guys racing a dinghy in the south-easterly breeze.
This cut no ice with the instructor. I was told to pay attention. My arms ached for days!
Session 2 was about legs. Given that I have an iridium knee and a titanium hip – thanks to sport in a previous millennium – he was a tad concerned about metal parts coming adrift, like a rusty exhaust falling off an old jalopy.
On the way home I was given a lecture on focusing my mind on the individual exercises. Luckily he didn’t catch me staring at the blonde honey on the treadmill!
Until the next session …