On Monday I went for my workout as usual. It was a normal day. The usual you might say. I had a limited amount of time so the session would need to be brief. With this in mind I duly raced through my Chest Press and Ab exercises.
I was near the end of my workout, but had yet to do the Cardiovascular bit. With time of the essence I decided to attempt my hitherto unachievable target of 500 meters on the rowing machine in 1 minute and 30 seconds.
I started at a rate of 1:40 for every 500mts. I knew this would not be enough, but would get me near a decent time. Feeling good I made it in 1:44. I still felt good on my way to the changing rooms, and this continued until a strong desire to vomit my guts overtook me.
It grew and persuaded me to enter the toilet cubicle. After hanging over the basin in the pre-wretch stage my body took a turn for the worse and my heart rate raced up like Howard Webb on his way to the Manchester United penalty area. My vision was blocked by white obese stars.
Happily a nearby Samaritan came to my rescue and with the help of a gym employee who must of been all of 14 years old and the beautiful angel Jemma I slowly regained colour. This had the side affect of ensuring I haven't got a Christmas card from John Terry.
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