Exercise? Me? I'll give it a shot.

I am not fat. I just have big bones. Exercise is a foreign word to me. I know jogging equals cardiac arrest. All things considered, I am not the best cantidate for a job protecting the country by way of the army. You can imagine my happiness then, when I found out I wasn't chosen to undergo the 3 months of physical torture known as National Service.

No wait. You couldn't possibly imagine it. Think of a guy who just became a grandfather, found a piccasso in his store room, and won the lottery, and you would only see half the happiness I experienced on the day the long list of unfortunate victims appeared in the newspaper.

Most of my friends will know my anti-exercise point of view. Thus I thought my parents were joking when they told me they had got me a gym membership. A very sick and twisted sense of humour they have. I was desperately trying not to luagh when they explained I had to go at least twice a week. Even the biting of huge chunks of cheek did not stop me from bursting into laughter when they told me I should go there at 8am to beat the crowds. Only the cold look only parents can give silenced me.

I suppose it was a thoughtful gift. I understand the hidden message completely. So I went. I survived an hour and a half in the gym. It ended when I had a stroke.

I do admit, I did have fun somewhat, right up to that heart attack. The cold shower afterwards was probably as close to heaven on earth in my opinion. Pushing myself to make that one more lift, then doing it, was great. I'm no adrenaline junkie, but you could get addicted to it.

Thats why tomorrow, I will not be posting an entry on my blog. I am going to the gym.