Weekly Progress #3

So my last workout dates back to the 15th of August. That’s 17 days ago.

17 days. Can you believe it? God could have created two worlds and a half in that amount of time. In the meantime, I’m still a thin, desperate student who can’t even lift a carton of milk.


Every morning, I anxiously check my weight.  I mean, I know I can’t magically gain muscle if I don’t eat and exercise properly but I can at least hope that I’ve managed to maintain some of the (laughable) gains of the past month.

Now the good news is that… if in the past month my intense workout routine and meal plan helped me reach peaks of 65 kg (more or less), my weight is now stable at 64.3 kg… which you know, is pretty much the same as when I started, so I’m not complaining.


AUGUST 23, 2017: 64.5 kg

SEPTEMBER 1, 2017: 64.3 kg

GAIN: –  0.2 kg

The problem is… I feel that I am once again sinking in the vicious circle of procrastination.

A week ago I promised that I would start again after the end of my internship.

When my internship ended I told myself that I would start the following Monday.

The following Monday I told myself that I would start at the beginning of the month.

Today is the first of September, a Friday, and I’m wondering whether it would make more sense to start directly on Monday.

You see what I’m doing here? Heck! I know this song all too well. It’s happened before… and it’s happening again.

I am in the library, typing with sugary hands and chewing a mouthful of donuts. Sprinkles and self-loathing are all over the place. Also, I need caffeine.

I am close to giving up but I know I can pull myself back together.

I’m also hoping that revealing my temporary failures and shaming myself in front of a virtual audience should be enough to motivate me to get a grip and carry on.

I hate the gym, I hate eggs, I hate protein shakes but I also hate failure. So I’ve decided to snap out of it and pick up where I left off. Wish me luck.


Weekly Progress #2

A quick update for this week.

In two words:

I’ll be honest with y’all. This week, I have experienced the first setback from the self-inflicted routine I have rigidly maintained for three weeks.
And no, I am not making excuses: it’s my fault. But I can explain! It’s not what it looks like! I have recently started a two week internship that is keeping me busy for more than 10 hours a day, commuting and crying included.

I mean, I don’t know how a normal human being can deal with this amount of work and still find the time/strength to cook/eat/clean and, on top of that, do a 90 minute workout three times a week. That is, of course, if you don’t take drugs.

I mean let’s be honest, it’s almost impossible. Doing that would mean sleeping less than six hours a night, spend the few free hours I have left doing chores and force-feeding myself and, most importantly, ditching Netflix for good.

So, for this week, I’ve stopped eating healthy and exercising.

Therefore, it comes as no surprise that I have made from little to no progress in the past two weeks

AUGUST 9, 2017: 64 kg
AUGUST 23, 2017: 64.5 kg

GAIN: + 0.5 kg
I mean it’s not all bad. I appear to have gained at least half a kilo, which I will probably lose if I take a piss or cry hard enough for 15 minutes. But I am deluded and I love it.

So yes, it’s not going great but I can’t stay I’m surprised! My internship will end in less than a week. And I have got enough time before uni starts to come up with a plan that will allow me to respect the rules of my diet and exercise programme and achieve the desired result.

What matters is that I am still feeling quite positive, so don’t give up on me just yet ’cause I am just getting started!


Weekly Progress #1

So I guess that after my previous (lengthy and quite unnecessary) introduction it really is time to cut to the chase and get to work.

So yeah! I have started going to the gym. I made it! I am a hero!

To be precise, I started two weeks ago. That accounts for six full gym sessions in a row. The longest continuous amount of gym hours I have ever done my life.

I got a new gym program to follow, courtesy of my cousin who is getting a degree to become one of the professional fitness people. Whatever that is.

So, let me just provide you with a quick summary of the current situation.

Weight  to date: 64 kg

Goal: 70 kg

I am giving myself six months to gain 6 kg of muscle and reach the desired result. And then, IF I actually manage to do it, I’ll turn to the toughest judge out there: the mirror. And we’ll see where to go from there.

My cousin said that, if I take it easy (like she knows I will), it should take me around 6 months to gain 6 kilos of lean muscle. Just in time for Valentine’s Day (which I will spend alone in my room chocking on expired protein bars, I know).


Anyway! As I said, for the past two weeks I’ve been going to the gym wearing my JUST PRETEND THAT YOU ARE NOT DYING INSIDE FACE. Throughout the pain and the sorrow, I managed the complete all the exercise that I was supposed to.

I bet you’re like: so what, do you want a round of applause?


Funny story: after my first workout, mainly focused on legs, the elevator in my building stopped working.

Oh, life and its wicked sense of humour. THAT WAS A TRAGEDY!

I live on the fifth bloody floor, for Peter’s sake! You know what that means?  It means that I spent three days crawling up and down the stairs, cursing and crying, praying Jesus Buddha and Mohammed to help me get to the door.

The pain was unbearable. For a second I really considered becoming a TUMBLR girl.  But I survived.

[dramatic pause]

I am a survivor, that’s what I do.

Well yes, I won’t lie to you: around my fourth gym session I did consider giving up on the gym and life altogether but no, this blog is too funny to let it die so I told myself I MUST GO ON.

Which is why you will read more funny post in the incoming days about my struggle with my new diet and some funny anecdotes from my new life as a person who goes the gym.

So stay tuned! Cause the worst is yet to come!




5 Reasons Why – All the times I quit the gym


I say we put things in order before we move on.  Quoting my previous post:

I have joined the gym five times over a seven year period. Actually, what’s the other way to put it? I have QUIT the gym five times over a seven year period. The math is quite simple. On average, I quit the gym every year and a half.

As I’ve said before, you gotta learn from your previous mistakes. But where exactly did I go wrong?

I’ll make the answer easier to digest with a clear timeline of my failures.

AUGUST 2010:

I was 14 years old and my weight was something like 49 kg with my clothes on. I was just another underweight pale teenager. Actually, the palest of them all. And you know, those are the years when you kind of grow tired of video games and start seeking a different kind of attention so I felt the urge to change something in my body. Plus, it was to early for cosmetic surgery.

I looked in the mirror and I said: “Oh…  this should be easy to fix!”

So naive.

When my mother signed me up to the gym my aunt decided to com e along. While the personal trainer filled a form with my details, she started talking about her nephew’s old gym and how people used illegal steroids and how her nephew’s friends overdosed on them and almost died. My mom then started telling me off for something I had not done, telling me that if I ever took something she would disown me.  My aunt backed her up, visibly pumped up, rhythmically alternating a ‘’yes’’ and a ‘’that’s right’’ while chewing her gum with her mouth open.

AS IF! I would never ever take a substance that is proved to make your penis shrink and your hair fall out. Not for the whole world.

I actually think I said that out loud which made the whole situation even more embarrassing.

Anyway, long story short. A few days after I started, a friend of mine who sometimes kept me company had the fantastic idea to pull down my sweatpants in front of the whole gym, exposing my ridiculous underwear. Very funny. At that point, I kind of felt like I had become the joke of the gym.  I just went on holiday and never came back. Gone with the wind. Bye Felicia.


Yay! I found myself a proper gym buddy! This time I’m gonna make it work! I got a gym membership (in a different gym ‘cause the exposed underwear wound was still fresh.

And here I am, again, in a crowded stinky place. The personal trainer was a 60-year-old man with unnaturally white teeth and even more unnatural black hair. He always had sweaty eyebrows. He was the kind of polished ugly that usually confuses people.

Anyway, that’s not the point. I relied on my gym buddy to find the motivation to go to the gym and finally make it work. I made him my role model, my inspiration. It turns out that my gym-buddy liked to smoke two cigarettes right after a workout and only at that point did I realize that maybe he wasn’t exactly the health and fitness kinda guy I thought he was.

And then it all went away quite naturally. A month later, after skipping nine workouts, my buddy and I had a very brief discussion on whether we should renew the membership. We were in perfect harmony: NO –  FUCKING – WAY.

Funny anecdote: a very kind gymtard saw me doing an exercise the wrong way and tried to help. His vocabulary was a little limited so he had to refer to Kamasutra positions every time he tried to explain how to do something. Creepy.


Tragic. Just tragic, really. Coming off a disastrous heartbreak, after the ice-cream eating, binge-drink, Adele-listening phase had faded off, I decided to take back control over my life.

I hurried through the victimization and self-motivational talk and the love yourself attitude and decided to cut to the chase. I told myself: ‘’If you weren’t this damn ugly maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation you know? It is all your fault. So go to the fucking gym and get it over with!’’

I joined my university’s gym. I know my self, so I decided to buy a three months membership. Then I would be forced to go for at least three months! Genius!

The first three workouts were just great: I felt fresh, powerful, I drank my protein shake and I smiled to people on my way to the train station (the fuck do you want? a well-mannered man asked me politely on one occasion).

But then something happened. I started meeting people from my course in the common areas at the gym. I tried to hide, avoid them, test my ninja moves. but it wasn’t enough. I just refused to let them see me sweat and suffer and be ugly in the attempt to be less ugly. It is such an intimate moment. It’s like letting them see me while I poop. It is just not going to happen.

So I said… maybe I should find another gym. And I quit, again. I only used that 3 months membership on another occasion: I happened to be in the area after Happy Hour and decided to use the gym’s toilet. It wasn’t a complete waste of money after all.


Only a month after the most recent failure and I moved into a new flat. And… surprise! There was a private gym for residents in the building I was moving in.

This must be a sign. It has to be a sign. Oh hell, I’m going to make this work! Very enthusiastically, I decided to join my fitness-oriented flatmates to the new gym. It goes well for the first two weeks (well if you exclude the usual pain and suffering and humiliation that normally come from exercising).

But then uni started, the first due-dates came and the anxiety kicked in. I was attending a new multimedia journalism module that was sucking the life out of me. And that’s how it ended: It was a leg day, I had to edit a video package and get three radio interviews after writing an opinion piece.  I wore my gym clothes, put on Spotify’s Monday Motivation playlist, almost a cried a little bit and then I came to the realization that… AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT!

And, just like that, it’s over. Bye gym.


It’s January: due dates, exams, books, papers, notes. Sedentary life, Tesco sandwiches, whiskey sours. That had been my life for I don’t even know how long. I was, again, thin and emaciated. I gave the word desperation a whole new meaning. I was so desperate that I decided to go the gym just to take a break from studying and force myself to lead a healthier lifestyle. It lasted three days, with no psychological or physical benefit whatsoever. That’s why I quickly reverted to the old methods to relieve the stress during exam period: Netflix and chill. You can’t be wrong.


Excuses, excuses and more goddamn excuses. The writing’s on the wall: I’m a lazy fuck and I am now ready to take responsibility for all my failures. I won’t blame no evil friends, chain-smoking gym buddies, Kamasutra-loving gymtards, university, the weather or life in general. I am dead serious about this now: it must be done and IT WILL BE DONE.


Welcome to the AntiFitness Club

I’m ready. Eye of the Tiger is playing in the background. I am sweaty, but not too much. I am rhythmically throwing punches in the air as I make weird sounds with my mouth (and I would totally be wearing my red bandana had I not lost it at that concert in 2011).

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You know what they say: sixth time’s a charm… or something like that.

I have joined the gym five times over a seven year period. Actually, what’s the other way to put it? I have QUIT the gym five times over a seven year period. The math is quite simple. On average, I quit the gym every year and a half. It’s become a kind of hobby, really.

I’m a quitter. I quit. That’s what I do.

I hate exercising. I hate sports. Last time I did sports was June 2007, when I joined a football competition. I didn’t really perform well, you know. Rather than kicking the ball into the net, I was more concerned about going through the day without getting my balls kicked by my bullies/team-mates.

I was so bad that my dad even promised to buy me a puppy if I ever stopped playing football. When I refused, he asked the football coach (without my knowledge) to put me on the team with younger children. Little did he know that 80% of them were actually Satan’s children: younger but just as evil.

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However, what I’m trying to say is that, when it comes to sports, I am the real antichrist.

I just can’t.

And the funny thing is… I am a quitter but also a hopeless dreamer. And I want to try again. But this time I have decided to learn from my previous failures.

First of all, forget every physical activity or sport that involves a ball or semi-spheric objects. We’ve ascertained that that is just not my thing.

I can just go to the gym! Again!

But, looking back at my history with gyms, I asked my self: where did I go wrong the previous five times?

I thought that the perspective of becoming healthier and fitter would be enough to motivate me to go and torture myself three times a week in a smelly place full of brainless alpha-males trying to impress middle-aged single women looking for a toy-boy.

Well, it wasn’t.

And nope, it never lasted more than two weeks. I have therefore come to the conclusion that the only way to make this work is to permanently bind the thing I like the least with the thing I like the most: exercising and writing.

Here’s a double challenge: a fitness journey and a writing experiment.  I’m probably going to quit both but hey, you gotta give it a try!

The Anti-fitness Club will be a record of my achievements and failures, a document of my progress towards my goal, a collection of similar people’s stories and, overall, a big barrel of laughs.

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This is not just another stupid fitness diary, but a big parody of the gymternet, the new fitness culture that started from the gym and took over  Instagram and Snapchat, spreading like an epidemic disease.

This is going to be a new, more real way to go about this. It will be written by a flawed human for other flawed humans.

I wanted to create a safe space for all people – fat and skinny –  but especially for those who are struggling with their shape and want to make fun of themselves and all the protein-fuelled muscle gods and goddesses.

We might be a tiny bit jealous and drown our sorrows in buckets of cookie-dough ice-cream while swallowing Maltesers without even chewing. But we’re gonna get there. Slowly and painfully.

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Oh and I’m warning you, I am all for body-positive image and being comfortable with who you are. But in no way am I going to encourage you to stay fat or skinny and ditch exercise, unless that’s what you want.

No, we probably will never be those people who post videos of ourselves lifting our 45kg Russian girlfriend while we do squats. But we’re still trying to achieve something.

Therefore, I officially declare that I am joining to gym… for the sixth time. And I’m going to report this journey, however short and unprofitable it might be, hoping to reach the desired results while bringing a bit of laughter and enthusiasm in your otherwise very sad lives.

And if I fail, this time, I’m going to be publicly humiliated. I got my self into this mess so, as a friend of mine used to say SUCK IT UP BUTTERCUP ‘CAUSE YOU BETTER WORK!!!

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