Fat Wars: The initiation

Wars...much has been writen about this topic. Wars have been fought against marauders, to defend home, hearth and country. To defend one's honour. To retrieve people and prizes. For women. For land and for freedom. For tea and spices. Well, for just about everything and against everyone. But a new kind of warfare is on these days. Uve seen trench warfare and guerilla tactics. Uve seen star wars and media wars. Well, make way for...the fat wars...mankind's stand against the flab!!! Now this war is all the more difficult coz of the invisible nature of the enemy. And its omniprescence. Its everywhere!!!

So we have amassed our equipment. Let me take you on a short tour of the arsenal
(no, not the football club).
First, man's version of a long walk minus the scenery (more like minus the pollution and the vehicles and the muggers and beggars and sea of humanity...taking a long walk is as good a way as any to get yourself killed)...the mind numbingly boring Treadmill...30 minutes or more of just walking or running in the same place. Gives you time to think. About what to think about. Trust me, seeing this monster early in the morning can give anyone nightmares.

Then, the cycling machine thingy. We've all seen bridget jones suffer with it. And professional athletes make it look like a causal bike ride on the beach. but believe me, u keep your eyes firmly trained on the blinky thing which shows u the time...ten more minutes...five more...Two..pant pant..more...gasp...minutes...well after that ur too beat to even shout for joy when u reach the prescribed minutes for the day.

Then we have the rowing machine. Perfect way to make you wonder if someone managed to fill your arms with lead while you were going row row row your boat. It looks nothing like a boat by the way. Rather disappointing.

But the villain of the gym, the arch duke of evil machines is unquestionably the EFX, also known as the stairmaster. It is an instrument of torture so hideous tht its ingenious. Apart from the physical torture, the psychological implications of seeing bald-fat-hairy-old man on the machine next to you going at it for half an hour is very demoralising. And you keep going just to not lose face. For those of you who havent seen this machine, it looks like a pair of skis which have been enlarged and fixed to a pair of pulley like wheel thingys.

And then we have the bewildering array of futuristic machines in the weights room which are designed to stretch, tone and work out every conceivable muscle in your body. Its awe inspiring is what it is. Apart from the jump rope and the huge exercise ball and the mat for your floor exercises and not to forget the old fashioned weights.

Every war needs generals to lead from the front, to be every soldiers mother, father, God, best and only friend and their worst nightmare. In this war, the unquestionable generals are the ubiqitous Trainers, those all powerful overlords of the gym, reigning supreme in their little polished wood floored jlo tracks spewing domains. The walk around in their track suited power and be your polite conscience, with the ultimate power to decide if you need an extra set of crunches that day when you tell them exactly what you ate the previous day. Ive seen CEOs and head honchos of huge corporations quail under their accusing stare and agree to an extra five minutes on the treadmill at (gulp) an incline. and suddenly that itty bitty slice of sinful chocolate cake which seemed so innocent, so harmless, now reveals itself to be a calorie trap set up by the enemy, a trojan horse, setting you back in the war effort. And guilty as charged, you trudge off mournfully for another round with the EFX. Its a well known fact that everyone hates their trainers. What makes matters worse is that the trainers are invariably sweet and nice and concerned. Damn them!!

But this is war, ladies and gentlemen. War requires sacrifices. If i dont want to die at age forty of a cardiac arrest because my arteries were clogged due to a lifetime of over indulgence, if i want to fit into my clothes again, if i want people to stop being terribly original by calling me fatty, well...so be it. Ill win or go down fighting. God bless us all.