Kevin Page: Who was I to tell Mrs P what had really happened

On this particular night Kevin Page was planning to get changed, warm up on the treadmill and then get stuck in. Photo / 123RF

OPINION

A while ago I grabbed the bull by the horns and took myself back to the gym.

It had been recommended by a medical bloke who said it would be good for my ageing frame, etc.

Initially it was a bit ‘been there, done that” but after I thought it through I came up why the “Why not?” response.

I’d done a bit when I was much, much younger. Actually got into a bit of bodybuilding for a while so why not go and see what it’s all about. It can only benefit my health, can’t it?

Obviously, the answer to that is yes. Although you do have to remember you are not 22 anymore. It did take me a while to remember that. Plus, there’s no need trying to impress any hot chicks when you’ve already got one at home.

So, I’ve been taking myself off to the gym three or four times a week for the last few months and I’ve been enjoying it.

But as is the case with these things, there comes a time when you get a bit stale. Over it. And you need a break from it.

For me that happened about three months ago.

I’d been plodding along okay, felt a lot better and was building a bit of lean muscle in the right places which, for those with the odd heart issue like me, is apparently important.

So anyway, I’m in the gym late one night – it’s one of those 24-hour places – and I’m pushing something or other on a machine and the elastic band breaks. Not the one on the machine. The one in my arm.

Long story short, this results in doctor, specialist, physio visits – and a whole lot of frozen peas in between – until now, when I’m apparently ready to start training again.

Thank goodness. I should be ready for the next World Cup. Ahem.

Anyway.

Progress has been slow and, if I’m honest, motivation has stayed in the back of the closet rather than in my gym bag of late.

But then, last weekend, I got a bit of a wake-up call from the woman who makes sure I remember important family birthdays each year.

We had been having a sort through my clothing stocks and seeing what did, and didn’t, fit.

Obviously when shirts and pants are left in a cupboard for any length of time they shrink. It’s a scientific phenomenon even the experts can’t work out.

Personally, I think it’s to do with global warming and the hole in the ozone layer. Isn’t everything?

Anyway.

I try on one shirt and it has so obviously shrunk Mrs P decides to comment. Apparently, and it’s hard to believe I know, she thinks I’ve put on weight because I’ve not been going to the gym as much as I was before.

She says I should refocus my energies and get back in there for a good hard session – or 27 - as soon as I can.

And so, a couple of nights later, there I am heading in to pump some iron and get a good sweat on to make my woman proud.

Unfortunately, as I get in, I discover there’s a problem.

Now I go to the gym at night because there’s less people around. This means I can often have my choice of machines without having to wait and there’s also less people around to hear embarrassing sounds coming from me as I strain with the load.

This particular night I’m planning to get changed, warm up on the treadmill and then get stuck in.

Unfortunately the cleaner is in and he’s just spilled a whole load of some gunky, icky stuff on and around the one treadmill that is free.

As I look on he’s trying to clean it up. Without much success and this means I’ve got to come up with an alternative warm-up plan.

Luckily, I have one.

Instead of getting changed and hitting the treadmill for 30 minutes I’m going to go and have a good hot shower, warm up all my muscles and then get stuck in.

And so that’s what I did.

It has to be said the showers at my gym are pretty spectacular most times. Good strong pressure and always nice and hot.

And today is no exception. Apart from the fact the pressure seems to be a little down. But it’s nice and hot and within 10 minutes or so I’m feeling pretty good as I towel off and take my gym gear – T-shirt and shorts – off the shower cubicle hook I’d placed them on before.

But there’s a problem. They are saturated.

Puzzled as to how this could happen, I check the shower head and attached hose.

There’s a small hole in the side – hence the drop in pressure – and the jet of water seems to have come out sideways, over the shower cabinet door and all over my dry gear hanging on the hook.

At this stage I decided there really was nothing left to do except flag the session and head for home.

Once there Mrs P greets me at the door and asks how I’d got on.

As I start to explain she opens my gym bag, pulls out the wet T-shirt and shorts and effectively stops me in my tracks.

“Oh wow,” she says. ‘I’m impressed. Good on you. Looks like you got a real, good sweat up.”