Last week when I was chilling with my friends from high school I was mighty impressed of the exercise moral of one of them. I once more got motivated to get my exercise plan started and told myself: this week you lazy bum!
Now after almost a week of first forgetting the workout clothes, then remembering the clothes but forgetting the shoes, the remembering both but not the gym card, I finally managed to get there with almost everything… the missing water bottle was, after all, an easy fix.
As I had never been at that particular gym, and also as I am in general very fond exercising in group, I decided to go to one of the courses rather than the open gym, all to ease my transition into this renewed lifestyle. I had picked something called “pump n’shape”. Mostly because it sounded the most like my traditional exercise-of-choice: Bodypump. I went into the tiny room, where I was completely and utterly solo. I gathered the stuff I needed in a little pile in front of the nine LCD screens that covered one wall and stretched for a few second.
“Hi and welcome to pump n’shape! Today you are working out with Hannes.” a kitsch male voice Echoed (in German) from the loudspeakers. Simultaneously a chunky dude popped up on the screens that displayed technological teamwork as they worked as one. I was completely baffled. This was the trainer? No encouraging screaming? No one to fix your lazy wrists? No “you’re doing great!” or “you can do better!” No human with actual energy present? Apparently not.
Making the best of the somewhat awkward situation I decided that this is in some absurd way pretty cool: I have a room to myself, a personal trainer, no one can bother me here. I’m safe in this sanctuary of dried sweat, bacteria drenched yoga mats and suspiciously clean floor, following the guidance of Hannes-the-Hunk that on no less than nine tv screens appears more or less life sized. True that this sanctuary had a discouragingly huge window pointing out into the gym section… a fact that rather strongly imposed on the idealised private nature of the situation and turned it into something arguably rather pathetic. But hey, did I go there to workout or to worry about what people think?
Throughout the session Hannes-the-Hunk did not say anything. All instructions came from the kitschy loudspeaker voice. Hannes was simply eye candy. Maybe he was there to illustrate the moves, but as I already knew all the movements I saw no further use for him than to be a little pretty. Something I think he himself must have been all too aware of during the filming.
His eyes are locked into the camera. Really flirtatiously so with a constant little smirk and a “puh!-aren’t-we-exhausted-and-excellent-for-being-so” facial expression – silly as he did not even break a sweat. Regularly that look (that to my inner self sounds like: “I’m gonna eat you, my little chocolate pudding”) popped onto his face when he was doing sit-ups or chest crunches or something of the sort, and I could not decide if I felt: “oh yeah! workout rocks!” or “wow… this is what my life has come to? Being kind of hit on by a video recording…”. Then again it was probably the flirtiest moment I had with any German so I guess, humorously, I cannot complain.
50 minutes later I stretched and relatively sweaty I went home, pleased to have started working out again. Tomorrow the plan is to check out who I will be joining for spinning class. Maybe it is a Michael-the-Bomb or perhaps a Gorgeous-George that fills the nine tv monitors while pretending for any possible viewer in the little room.