I have just returned from the most horrendous experience. I’m not really sure how to describe my induction at the Origin of Energy cult/fitness group in Bondi Junction, other than by saying I entered as a fairly normal, neat and confident human being, and left feeling like a bedraggled kitten after accidentally falling asleep in the drum of a washing machine, on laundry day. Needless to say my poor, abused body didn’t know what hit it. After months of traveling this fine country, eating and drinking everything in my path in a manner which would put Pacman to shame, I have emerged a slightly pudgy, slightly wobbly lady who probably should not be living in Bondi. Bondi, as you know, is full of people who wouldn’t know pudgy or wobbly if it slapped them round the mouth in Pie Face.
There’s no Pie Face in Bondi, so in my tiny mind, combined with a new health kick involving this group, Origin of Energy, I am half way towards living and maintaining a lifestyle that won’t lead to a heart attack by the time I’m 40. My body however, shuns my mind. My body and mind are at war on this matter. In a moment of weakness I can feel the battle commence: “What’s that arse? Just because you haven’t had a steak and stilton pie with mashed potato and mushy peas in a week, you think you look ok in tight leggings without a t-shirt covering you up? PAH! I laugh in the face of your ignorance. Get down and pump me 20.”
Origin of Energy is actually more like a community of health conscious people, than a gym, though every class is designed to work different parts of your body and at the end you can eat a hearty lunch, made strictly from organic ingredients. There’s a fridge full of meat in the gym too. I found this slightly disturbing at first. I don’t know about you, but the last thing I want to do when I’m attempting to lift my body weight above a metal bar, feeling the eyes of a muscle-clad man burn like lasers into my quivering thighs, is stare at a hunk of freshly slaughtered cow. But it smells bloody good when it’s cooking right in front of you. The thought of gobbling up a plateful afterwards is a damn good incentive to carry on in your pursuit of physical excellence, actually, even if it won’t have a pie top or gravy when it’s done.
I suppose Origin of Energy is a bit like a cult, as in everyone hangs out all the time and sleeps with each other on a rotational basis (I really hope I fit in!) Only the focus here is on filling your body with goodness at all times, and not on covering yourself and all your mates in purple blankets and popping pills for eternal sleep. This gym was absolutely chocka with hot people, just now. Seriously, it was like someone picked up the cast of Survivor, wrapped them in lycra and plonked them in one room. I was so out of my league, looking at raw meat, wishing I hadn’t eaten carbs for 30 years. But I was forced to bend, stretch, pump and lift in front of them nonetheless. Apparently I’ll get better as the weeks go on, everyone has trouble at first. This is encouraging, although right now I can’t even leave the sofa. I’m so fucking unfit, it’s disgusting.
Anyway blog, seeing as I’m here, I will apologise for becoming estranged of late. I believe my last update was in August, which is unforgivable, but I vow to redeem myself by posting something on your blessed self at least once every day, until the day I die. And maybe even after that, as I might just pre-programme some entries for the days following my tragic demise, just to freak everyone out. If Origin of Energy aren’t the death of me, the lack of accessible Pie Face definitely will be.