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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