Fit for Purpose

Sadly I didn't make it into FlashFlood with this one but that's no reason not to post it up here

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It was his bloody fault. Alan. Always into something for nothing so when he saw the offer he says to me

'There you go, new years resolution let's have a go.'

A Gym. I ask you a Gym. What do I want with a frigging Gym? I might not be fit but I'm not fat and the only time I need to break into a trot is when I'm late for the bus. 'Come on' he says, 'try it for the free week and we'll just have a laugh. Gentle stroll on the treadmills and watch all the birds working out.' He was always more of a letch than me.

So we turned up, got the pep talk from some muscle brained steroid advert and took to the treadmills. Only five minutes in and Alan's weighing up the talent giving it his usual would, wouldn't and maybe after a few pints when he says 'That ones giving you the eye'. I'm looking around and can't see who he's on about. 'No that one, over there on the skiing thingy, the older one'.

I'll admit to a slight feeling of panic. Women don't smile at me these days unless it's across a counter and accompanied by 'dear' or even worse 'grandad' but she was. I smiled back and she came over and got on the treadmill next to me.

'Hello , haven't seen you before. New Years resolution?'

'Sort of, he dragged me along for the free week, course I don't really need it'

Straight back to eighteen and bragging in front of women. Why do we do it.

'No you look fit enough to me.'

I just had time to realise I could still blush when the pain in my arm stopped me. It hurt from all the nudge, nudge and 'You're in there' from Alan the other side of me.

'Come on' she says 'I'm just going to do a gentle three miles. Keep up and you can buy me a drink afterwards.'

That should have been my cue to gently bow out and make up some excuse about an old injury but macho took over. I lasted about a mile I think, I even managed a sideways smile or two. Then the lights went out.

'Does he have to poke about in my insides like that.'

Well it's difficult do a post mortem otherwise.

'Yes but he's not exactly being delicate about it and he's whistling away like a bloody butcher preparing tripe.'

You're not going to need any of it anymore.

'So is this it? I mean is this what comes after?'

That rather depends on you and whether you think you can let go and move on.

Oh!....... Maybe I'll stick around for a while and haunt that bastard Alan.