Today I went to the gym – a generally civilised and wholesome place. I naively pitched up to do a circuit class – core circuits, no less.
Usually classes have a lot of women in them and while there is sweating there certainly isn’t any grunting. If I bothered to think about it I would most likely conclude that this was a hangover from the Jane Fonda or Kids from Fame days of Lycra and aspiring to graceful long-legged loveliness.
Core circuits was different – there were quite a few men and hardly any Lycra at all. Instead they almost all wore t-shirts telling of some sporting endeavour. Great North Run, Scottish Series yachting, some exotic gym at least six time zones from Renfrewshire and a rather ritzy golf club to name but a few.
But I could barely ponder this interesting sartorial trend for the most distracting straining noises and groans.