Creak

That’s the sound my back would make if it had the strength to move a muscle. One week away from exercise and the muscles grow flabby, fat and lazy. Now, the lower back is encased in the loving adhesive of Salon-Pas. On the other hand, I successfully loaded up 9kg worth of weights for the legwork and boy, does it feel good.

I have come to remember why I never go to the Capital Tower Fitness First outlet. After class, I have to queue in arctic conditions for the shower because there are only six or seven cubicles for, oh, 20 women. When I reach the cubicle, all shivering and with my toes turning blue from the miserable cold, I turn the tap on only to find cold water splashing down my back. I shower as quickly as I can and then move out, hoping to snag a counter to warm myself up with the hairdryer. Sadly, none are available because the 10 women ahead of me in the shower queue are fighting to blow dry their hair too. I glare at that atrocious woman who dares to sneak her hand past me to grab the hairdryer when I am so obviously going to blow dry my hair after combing it but the rude cow ignores me and happily powers up the appliance. I want to strangle her with the electrical cables after I finish tsk-ing at her.

So yeah, I hate going to Capital Tower.

Meanwhile, I am happy to say that Nike sports apparel is really quite amazing. No, this is not a plug because I am not prolific enough to be a sponsored walking ad. It’s just cool because unlike adidas, which retains a bit of moisture and can smell quite funky, Nike tops really keep me dry. So thank you, God of Sales and thank you Sista for becoming the next Jojo Sinclair (she can’t fit into her clothes anymore and has passed on a whole lot to me).