Can I just say that gyms are places of misery where I go to recreate something that I lost back on the Carnival Sensation. In the photo I posted a few days a go I was slimish. Now here on the Carnival Miracle I am fatish and so the gym is now a regular haunt of mine. Gyms are places of hatred and of sweat and hope where we pant on the treadmill, pretending to listen to our Eyepods where really what we are doing is mourning the loss of our youth. It’s the regret that gets me, not just the awning I have built over my gentleman’s sausage but the lost fact that when I was young I could eat, drink and be merry with the best of them and that now as a diabetic that has all buggered off and won’t be coming back. All men my age, fat, slim, and muscle bound are scrunching, lifting and puffing to push back the years, have a particular look. I recognise it. I catch myself wearing it: it’s a look of hope, fear, bravado, vanity and panic. I particularly stored fat around my waist, like one of my daughter’s rubber rings she uses in the pool, only bigger and without the pictures of Princess Ariel on it . I am at the point now where I avoid below-the-neck mirrors and so you can imagine the hell I have to go through every time I sit on the toilet at the hotels Carnival puts me in when I travel because the bastards always put a full length mirror on the inside of the bathroom door. Seeing myself naked m sitting on the toilet, legs open wide looking like a yawning hippopotamus is enough to make me want to weep with despair. Onwards and upwards…………….more gym this afternoon. Oh FFS
Posted on: Sat, 31 May 2014 18:26:50 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015