So yes, I joined a gym as of late, and it has brought forth a great deal of misery in my life.

a) Said gym happens to be pricey and I'm wiped out with just getting a membership plus admission fee plus monthly fee plus trainers fee.

b) One needs a gym outfit that is suitably flexible, immune to sweat and plausibly fashionable since gym will be filled with defence aunties in their flashy aerobics gear. I may not be in the best of shape but I refuse to be outclassed by defence aunties at dressing for the gym. Such a gym outfit can be most quickly discovered at a local nike/adidas/reebok/blahblah outlet, and will regrettably end up costing the remainder of one's paycheck.

c) The trainer assigned to one is mostly due to a mixture of luck and availability. With my luck, I get a narcissistic fellow who enjoys mingling with shirtless lads pumping iron and enjoys lifting up his own shirt to check out his biceps in the mirror. Said trainer also has a fondness for weight training and insist that I also need to tone up my upper body. Personally, I would think it's the lower body that screams out for some toning the most, but then, what do I know? The result: inability to lift arms the next day thanks to a series of crushing muscle cramps near in the upper arm and back regions. Oh, and for the record, Icy Hot Cream, despite having a catchy name, does absolutely nothing for sore muscles.

And so, I plunge forward in the workout regiment set, with many a well wisher advising me about diet and fitness and my own personal US-based cheering squad i.e. mum in the background. Fitness, here I come!