It's not often that I liken myself to the Queen of England but when it comes to technology I'm definitely with her. When her second son, HRH the Duke of York, returned from the Falklands War after his stint as a helicopter pilot she is supposed to have remarked: "Thank goodness he's home, he's the only one in the family who can work the video." I never did quite fathom how to work our video player and now, of course, it's too late to even think about it, as they are practically obsolete. At least my daughters won't get the frantic phone calls five minutes before a programme is about to start anymore, asking them to talk me through it.
Technology is always moving on but I find it really hard to keep up, which is why I found myself storming out of the gym in a fury because I couldn't remember how to work the machines. A kindly assistant had given me a brief introduction the previous week but since then I'd been very busy and didn't manage a second visit until yesterday. It's been two years since I've been anywhere near a gym and the only reason I've started going again is because my weight loss had come to a complete standstill. In fact, the scales were showing that I had put on a couple of kilograms again. My lovely diet guru, Dr Rita Nawar at the Weight Care Clinic in Dubai, says I'm not to panic. "It's the weather," she tells me much to my amazement.
Apparently, in very warm weather the body begins to store water and she thinks the couple of unwanted pounds that have crept back might be water retention. "Right," I tell her. "No more water". "Wrong," she replies. "You must drink more, not less. In fact, during this very warm spell you should be drinking at least two litres a day." So there I was in the beastly gym with half a litre of water sloshing around inside me, trying to read the instructions on a running machine without my glasses. Why do they make the writing so small? I mean, who takes their reading glasses to the gym for heaven's sake? There were programmes for all sorts of things, cardiovascular, fat burning, uphill runs, cross-country, you name it. I had no idea which one to choose and settled for the fat burning. But then you have to choose your speed and again I was baffled. All I could think of was my old headmistress telling us we were going for a "brisk walk", so I settled for a little over halfway and chose number six.
After my first foray, I mentioned to a friend that it was really boring running on a machine and she suggested bringing earphones in order to watch something on television. I plugged in and off I went, very quickly realising that the cord was just a bit too short, having been made to use with a tape recorder rather than a running machine. So I ended up crouched over like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, feeling and looking ridiculous. Whose idea was it to put full length mirrors in a gym so you can see yourself looking red-faced and very uncool?
Next came the weight machines and I distinguished myself by sitting on one back-to-front and wondering why the bloke on the next machine was smiling. What amazes me is that the pin always seems to be on the 63-kilogram weight. In a million years I can't imagine myself ever being able to lift that. Maybe the Incredible Hulk popped in that morning for a workout. I quickly pulled out the pin and stuck it firmly in the 13-kilogram slot. I'm definitely not ready for that sort of gym one-upmanship.
In fact, I'm not really mentally ready for the gym, full stop. I think I need professional help. Maybe I should seek the services of a personal trainer. I can hear the daughters cackling already. "Who do you think you are, Madonna?" Well no, actually, I think I'm just a normal person. I just happen to have been born when life was less complicated, when kids didn't grow up using PlayStations before they could walk and when we spent our childhoods climbing trees and making bonfires.
Perhaps if I took the trouble to find out what I should be doing at the gym I'd like it better. Perhaps if I wasn't so bone-headed about asking for help. Perhaps when I calm down and stop feeling furious and frustrated I'll pick up the Yellow Pages and find myself a nice young muscle man to take me through my paces. That can't be such a bad thing. @Email:pkennedy@thenational.ae
