07 07 08
Last night, following a delightful bookclub meeting during which our host, D, managed to spill a glass of wine into the basket of books (which, thankfully, I remembered to bring this time), I turned on the news. Soon I found myself furiously flicking between etv and SABC3 as I attempted to find a newsreader who didn’t irritate the crap out of me. This was unsuccessful: I wanted to throw up every time the poncey Joanne Joseph rolled her ‘Rs’ in an eye-gouging approximation of a French accent, and as I fixated upon the giant moll squatting above the top lip of the etv news anchor, whatever her name is…Moley McMollson. Shudder
Anyway, the sports component of each of the bulletins rolled around, and naturally their was much bemoaning of the Sprinkbok’s alleged poor performance in their thugby match against the All Blacks on Saturday morning.
Cut to a sound byte with Coach de Villiers.
I stared in horror at the hairy beast that resides on his top lip, and which has managed to burrow much of the way down his cheeks. This was a moustache straight out of the 1970s. Burt Reynolds had NOTHING on Pete’s ‘stache. What the hell is up with that? Not only does he look like a relic of the disco age, but the handlebar facial hair, coupled with his pubescent voice and utter ineloquence, made me think of a wino. He looked more like someone who’d gotten trashed after watching his team lose the rugby, rather than the coach of the national side.
Yeesh. That man needs a makeover.
03 07 08
In an ordinary week, barring sickness or extreme laziness, I go to the gym around twice (once with Golden Beagle), and I walk on Saturday mornings (with G.B and Chicsa Fashionista). The reasons I go to gym are manifold:
1) I believe that working out is good for my body and mind
2) Being at the gym means I am not eating chocolate at that precise moment in time
3) I mistakenly associate exercising at the gym with being allowed to eat three more chocolates without any unwanted effects
5) Fat rolls
6) Hours spent lolling about on my couch un-gymming
Remarkably enough, I do not go to the gym to do the following:
1) Leer at men's bums for hours at a time
2) Work myself up to a frenzy of lust
3) Stare at myself in the mirror and shout "Daddy's got a new set of pipes" or "mommy's got a new set of pipes," for that matter.
4) Sexually entice unsuspecting men by pounded away on the treadmill next to them
5) Lure people away from a just and moral life path
I have seen myself after a gym workout – an oil painting I am not. However, It would seem that members of this Christian-oriented gym would like to believe that this is exactly what I, G.B, my friend Maggot, my sister and about 50 other people I know who attend a gym, have set out to do.
Here are a couple of the quotes I found quite delightfully absurd from the NY Times article referred to above:
Jason Russell, a fitness buff, had long found it difficult to combine his Christian faith with his job as a gym manager, which required him to be around women in spandex and men concerned only with how macho they are. "Me being a single guy and trying to walk the Christian line, it was difficult," said Mr. Russell, 30. "I needed not only to protect myself, but as a leader, to help others with their spiritual journey."
R. Marie Griffith, a professor of religion at Princeton University who has written about Christian diet and fitness programs, said such gyms appealed to people who might not have found other fitness programs effective or appealing. "These are places where fitness is important, not sex or vanity," Professor Griffith said. "It's supposed to be that we're not going to forget we're Christian here. There's a sense of comfort around people with the same moral values as you have; no one's going to rock your world."
Right, so Mr Russell needs to 'protect' himself against 'women in spandex' and macho men. Because, clearly, female gym-goers are nothing but temptresses who want to seduce him. Sorry for Jason and his 30-year old alleged virginity…I suspect a 75-year old clog dancer could turn Jason on uncontrollably by this stage of his life. Perhaps his life would be better spent being isolate from society. The worst that would happen then would be the blindness he must surely still believe strikes "those" kind of sinners.
The idea that because he and other Christians are gymming in a 'Christian' gym, they won't check out one anothers' bums while working up a sweat, is preposterous and naive.
As for R. Marie Griffith's suggestion that Christian gyms 'are places where fitness is important, not sex or vanity', I find a quote from the movie 'The Castle' is quite apt here…."She's dreamin!" My feeling is that if you want to be a good Christian, you can do so just as easily at a non-Christian gym, or at the movies (where, God forbid, you can make out with the person next to you!) or at a restaurant, or at a Marilyn Manson concert.
P.S. Sorry about any spelling or grammar mistakes. I don't feel like proofreading today.