Blood, sweat and tears

If you can see this post, it's probably because I wrote it yesterday and set in this awesome Blogger schedule to post it today. And it happened, because today I can't move. (See how provident I am?). Yes. My dream number one is in progress, I got myself a gym membership and from what I feel it hurts.

And I'm not sure if I would do it, if our district sport centre wasn't Rivendell. I'm totally serious. I don't know who was the architect, but he decided to design the swimming pool, ice rink, gym, squash hall and all those things I can't even remember in a Lord-of-the-Rings themed building. And it's not only my interpretation, he mentioned his inspirations in some interviews:

I can totally see Galadriel sliding down to the water!

I had a gym membership. Once. Long long ago, in a country where the food was so incredbly awesome that going to the gym was the only way to fit into your pants. And still in the end of my stay I was wearing dresses only. You must know, that I never was a sporty person. I just didn't understand a concept of catching a ball and running and being superfast and all this stuff. Seriously, what did that ball do to you? Let it be. Leave it alone. You both can sit next to eachother and coexist in peace. Probably, Polish primary sport teaching program, designed for big kids with long legs, making short kids with short legs come to the fnish of a run as last, wasn't really encouraging either. You must admit that getting that membership was a big thing. After I bought it I aleady felt my external oblique muscle getting stronger. But you know, buying a membership is just a first half of the game. The other part is to go and actually run. 

So yesterday I made sure that I have all I needed, including a fancy t-shirt from which everybody could see what's my attitude towards sport and English grammar:

Thanks God, a coach didn't speak English, or that spelling mistake tricked him, or was simply corteous enough not to pay attention. He showed me all those threadmills and all the stuff that I'm never gonna use and let me run. So I did. I can't remember for how long I ran, but there was Justyna Kowalczyk on TV, our best cross-country skier winning something apparently important, so I felt like it's my patriotic duty to run along and support her mentally. You must know, people, that Poland is famous of nichee sports, such as ski jumping, cross-country skiing or simply racewalking, confirming the stereotype of Poland as "that poor country with loads of snow and no cars". Because nothing is better to win a race, than just walk to the finish.

Anyway, seing other people sweat gives you the spirit for fight. Then, they changed channels and it was even better, because there was a program called "Knockout Sportsworld", which was a werd combination of MMA and lucha libre with people smashing eachothers faces in most spectacular ways. However, I'm still waiting for rugby. There is no better backgound for running than watching a bunch of very big, very dirty and very pissed guys fighting for a ball. It's all about sweat, blood and tears. Almost like my yesterdays workout. Ahem.