Readysteadyunitard's Blog

Following the disaster of session one, my relationship with the gym is looking up. I figured out what I was trying to do, this helped. Firstly, I want to build muscle. I want to get really, properly strong. I don’t want to turn into some kind of pumped girl freak though, it’s all part of a bigger plan to become extremely fit. So I can, you know, go running in the hills, fly a power kite, climb – rocks, trees and ropes, surf and generally jump around in a really extreme way.

I need some goals and I have the first one fixed. I’m running a half marathon in September, this is really going to help me focus on my cardo fitness whilst hopefully encouraging me aggressively in the direction of unitard readiness.  More imminently, Glastonbury looms, being a power house of strength would be a bonus (as would looking hot in wellingtons and a pac-a-mac) so the next couple of weeks are going to be all about pumping iron and maximising the guns. Thirdly, August’s bikini fest. Now, I’m not sure if this is more or less of a challenge than the unitard. Either way, it must and will be a great motivator!

My first task as part of this little game was to join a gym. Access to some big grufty weights and cardio machines, both by my house and place of work, was an absolute requirement. As luck would have it I located a multinational gym chain with almost everything I’ve never dreamed of, in a gym. I fitted their requirements (a willingness to give them all my money and an air of flakiness) so they welcomed me right in.

As part of the deal they threw in some personal training so I rocked up for my first session yesterday afternoon. I would be lying if I said it went to plan. I imagined I would get down and do 20 on arrival, but there was some conversation to be had first. He wanted to know what I was hoping to get out of the gym membership. I believe the desired response was weight loss or toning, for the ladies, or getting stacked, strictly for the boys. He seemed disproportionately confused by my desire to get really strong and some heavy questioning followed. I meant getting toned, right? Did I want to lift more than the average man? No, and no.

He asked me to take it back to the beginning. Suddenly unsure of my intentions and unwilling to share the readysteadyunitard dream I took it back one step too far to Glastonbury last summer. I was outside the cider bus, when carrying my besties round on my shoulders enabled me to realise my dream of super strength.

It soon became clear that this was not good gym chat when he asked if I really wanted to work out so I could carry my friends around when I was drunk. Was I thinking more competitively? Had I considered physique contests? Not funny. Then I wanted to die and he probably did too. As a final resort he pointed to a poster featuring a hottie with a six pack, was it something like that I was after? I faltered, then realised he had a point; she would have looked awesome in a unitard so I gave him the ok, for the time being.