Oh, let me tell you, I’m in that fabulous phase of life where youthful enthusiasm has waved goodbye, and my body has embraced the art of shapelessness. More padding than a couch, I tell you! And it's not the kind of development you’d write home about. But then, I stumbled upon this term called sarcopenia. Apparently, muscle mass starts playing a disappearing act at the rate of 3-8% per decade after 30. Well, isn’t that just scary?
So, I decided it was high time to take matters into my own hands and drag myself to the gym. Now, gymming has never been my forte. I mean, who enjoys doing repetitive exercises to songs that sound like alien languages, all while avoiding the glaring truth in those wall-to-wall mirrors? Disaster in the making, I say!
But hey, why not make it fun? I started spinning stories about my fellow gym-goers. Not shaming, mind you, just naming! Take Betty, for example. This nimble, athletic girl would hop on a huge cube like it was her personal playground. Her unaided jumps seemed to shout, "I bet not many can do this!" Hence, Betty. Clever, right?
Anyway, I pressed on with the leg press, suddenly finding the weight less burdensome. My mind distraction technique was working wonders! So, I scanned the room for more story fodder.
In walks Mr. Muscle Sculpture, arrogance etched on his chiseled face. He headed straight for the heaviest weights and flexed away in front of the mirror, his veins popping like an anatomy lesson come to life. If only med schools taught anatomy like this—hands-on learning at its best!
Lost in this live biology textbook, I realised I’d knocked out three sets of leg presses without even a hint of boredom. Next stop, Smith machine. That's when I noticed Tweedledee and Tweedledum, two teens who’d just hit their awkward 13- year-old growth spurt. Eyes filled with ambition, they fumbled around with the weights, using techniques so wrong they could’ve patented them.
Mother mode activated. I couldn’t help but gently correct them. They turned to me with a mix of disbelief, anger, and frustration. Had they been from Mumbai, they'd have asked me to mind my own business in their choicest language ! But being the polite Brits they were, they just ignored me and carried on with their chaotic workout.
By this point, I had conquered all the machines in the gym. Time to relax, stretch, and head home. As soon as I hit the mat for some stretching, I dozed off, only to be woken by a gentle nudge from Luke, the gym instructor.
Now, I'm on my way home, feeling accomplished with a slew of new characters for my stories!
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