G Day.

Dearest readers, if you've been following this blog for a while, then please cast your minds back to last weeks post where I let you in on my half baked plans to befriend some Leeds folk by joining a gym.

Reluctantly joining a gym I should add.

Well today was "G Day".

I had pottered along to the big fancy gym in the new shopping precinct on the Headrow after work on Tuesday and electronically signed myself up, but being a newbie, I had to book an induction before they would let me loose on any of the shiny machinery.

Sensible, but also a mortifying prospect.

The little confirmation email I received informed me it was to be a group induction, so I wouldn't be the only scared little unfit lamb being put up for the meathead slaughter.

Sadly when I went along to the gym tonight, the other lambs had obviously got cold feet, because I was the only one who turned up.

As I've been keeping this thing anonymous, I appreciate that if you find yourself reading this and you have no idea who I am, you have no idea what I look like. So let me paint a picture of myself.

I'm 5ft 6, a fairly slim size 10 (if a bit squishy round the edges), I've got unruly blonde hair which curls at the sight of a raindrop and I rocked up to the gym wearing my old Adidas cut offs which are a size too small, and my university alumni hoodie which is 3 sizes too big.

Pretty trampy.

I was met by a 6ft 5 (ish) giant of a man with shoulders as broad as my sofa and a beard which could rival Santa Claus'... Despite being brown. This man, Dave, was the personal trainer.

I was intimidated from the word hi.

Dave turned out to be a pretty canny bloke though, he didn't judge me as my face turned red from 5 minutes on the cross trainer and was very patient with me as I dubiously made my way around all of the shiny, dangerous gym machinery.

He didn't even laugh (too much) when I set the weight machine that works your upper arms (whatever it's called) on the wrong weight and couldn't even move the thing.

After an excruciating 45 minutes of Dave putting me through a gym master class of embarrassment, he asked if I had any more questions before he set me free to sweat in private.

I figured I might as well be honest and voice what I was really thinking...

"Is this a posers gym?"

In my previous post, I voiced my concerns about attempting to befriend meatheads and gym bunnies so I was somewhat relieved when he answered in the negative.

At that moment, 2 girls wearing so much fake tan it was genuinely difficult to tell their ethnicity walked past me, fake eyelashes, bright pink lipstick, the tightest Lycra leggings in existence and boobs pushed up to their chins. The works.

If you've seen the music video for that old Pink song 'stupid girls', you can probably picture the type.

As a little bead of sweat dripped off the end of my nose, I knew Dave had lied.

So I stayed for another half hour or so then made a swift exit, power walked up home and dived into the shower.

All in all, it wasn't the worst experience of my life, but even so, it's going to take me a gooooood while to become a gym loving exercise fanatic.

Just pass me the cake.

L x