Alien in an alien world

While pondering why he turns so many heads, Paul Carter is also wondering why he’s trying to be something he doesn’t want to be in a place he doesn’t want to be in

Dear readers, I think I may need help. You see, in the latest move in my seemingly never-ending quest to become The Very Person I Despise With Every Atom Of My Being, I have edged one step nearer to middle-class mediocrity and joined a gym.

And not just any old gym either, oh no, I couldn’t do that.

This isn’t one of those places that in my day used to be called a “leisure centre”, where staff had to put tablets in the swimming pool to tell if anyone peed in it.

Oh no. This is one of those unbearably smug places where entire families arrive en masse in fleets of armour-plated 4x4s, all dressed in matching tennis outfits and clutching custom made racquets made out of silicone graphite.

Moving a step closer to becoming The Person is, however, in this instance at least, a necessary evil, largely because in recent weeks I seem to have developed what can only be described as a rather unattractive waddle.

Add to that the fact that if my waist size continues to expand quite so exponentially, then I risk sucking small items that I might pass by into my own orbit, then maybe you can understand my reasoning – please understand my reasoning, you’re all I have!

The biggest problem I have with gyms (or health and fitness centres as their pretentiousness would have it) is that they are quite possibly the most alien environments for a disabled person that you are ever likely to find. It’s truly bizarre.

Me walking around in the gym seems to attract an inordinate amount of attention from people who would not normally bat a Rimmeled eyelash. Add to this the fact that any notion of social propriety seems to be thrown out of the window, as yuppies on their running machines practically fall over themselves in amazement every time they see me walk by. I have to say, it’s most amusing. Next time I happen to go, which judging by my current record might be quite some time, I quite fancy taking a walk through the weightlifting area to see what mayhem I can wreak purely with my presence.

It’s quite exhausting; I didn’t think that lamely attempting to shift a beer gut could attract quite so much attention.

Anyway, my ultimate aim for joining is to become buff, so by the time you read this next month I might be too muscle bound to type. Chance would be a fine thing.