tales of a gym bunny

You didn't know I was a gym bunny? Well, perhaps it's the term 'bunny' that you're struggling with. I mean, it's true I attend my local gym twice a week, almost without fail. But given the state of my thighs and the fact that my upper arms are beginning to wave in the breeze..... well, considering all this I might better be called a gym hag. But 'bunny' sounds much more cheery. So try to swallow your misgivings, and let me be the bunny. he he.

Today, this ageing bunny took herself to her usual boxing class at the gym. This gym class is renowned for being brutal. Our pumped-up instructor can do a handstand directly from a crouched position (go on - try it!), he makes us 'ski sit' against the wall for minutes on end, he makes us shuttle run, do sit-ups, run, do push ups, and run, and run and run. He is a tyrant. But he makes us all very fit.

Into this class of mostly thirty-to forty-something mothers wandered a petite, immaculate Eurasian-looking young woman in tight black lycra. I fiddled with my long loose sweatpants and straightened my T-shirt as I enviously eyed her neat hips and miniature thighs. This chick was not just slim, she was tiny. Tiny in a way I will never be unless I acquire some hideous wasting disease. On her delicate frame, though, her smallness was cute and appealing.

Ms Tiny took up a position off to my left, and began to punch the air, as we warmed up. I was gratified to see in my peripheral vision that she looked a bit awkward, a bit unco, as we Aussies say (unco=uncoordinated). Almost immediately, though, my cheer turned sour as I turned and caught a glimpse of her face up close. Dark eyes, button nose - overall disgustingly pretty. I am opposed to this kind of excess physical beauty on principle. I believe it encourages moral laxity in the afflicted individuals. Also, these people make me look bad.

I kept punching the air, wondering to myself if perhaps Ms Tiny might be really dumb or even better completely humorless. I comforted myself with the fact that she was unlikely to make carrot cake like I can.

The class continued as we punched in pairs. I was paired with Heidi, a warm and funny woman who smiles all the time, even when she's punching. When she really relaxes, she also makes sound effects as she punches, saying softly, 'Shhhww, shhhww', as she belts the mitts.

I was getting pretty tired by the time The Taskmaster instructed us to lie on our sides on the small platform at the front of the room, hips at the edge of the 'step', fingertips behind ears. 'Touch your elbow to the floor, come up, then down again.... keep going until you've done twenty side-crunches', he ordered.

Ms Tiny was positioned next to me again. 'Good', I thought to myself. 'She's bound to be bad at this. She's so scrawny, she'll have no power whatsoever'. But I was forgetting basic physics. Ms Tiny's muscles were a tad smaller than mine. But her torso also weighed about half as much as mine. Off she went, bobbing up and down interminably, while I sweated and grunted and thought about ways to kill Miniature Gym Bunnies.

Finally, I was finished - but of course Mini Gym Bunny had finished before me, and was sitting pertly nearby. I sat up, shaky..... lurched.... and knocked over Mini Gym Bunny.

What? What are you suggesting? It was an accident.

I can't help it if she's so puny that one bump from a slightly chubby knee sends her sprawling on the floor. Besides, she should know better than to show up her elders and ugliers.

Even though none of it was my fault, and frankly she deserved worse for daring to be so cute, Mini Gym Bunny was dismissive of my apologies. She frowned and refused to even meet my gaze. Anyone would think there was something awful about being bowled over by a jealous, sweaty, baggy-clothed (possibly smelly?) gym hag.

I can't see the problem myself.