‘So we were at Pyscle,’ my friend began yesterday. ‘Psycle?’ my other friend interrupted. ‘That dark place with other people?’ We all stopped to stare at her in confusion. ‘Well, yes, I suppose so. It’s a spinning class.’ ‘Yes,’ my friend agreed, somewhat hesitantly. ‘But I’ve heard it’s very dark.’ ‘Also,’ I interjected helpfully. ‘That there are other people there.’ My friend attempted to continue her story, but the moment was gone.
To be fair, other than for expediency, and I suppose, a lack of imagination, there is no reason why we refer to things by their name, rather than their attributes. I, for one, would be delighted to attend any of the below-named exercise classes:
- Very cold and with frequent stops. (Running)
- Most of time spent checking speed and incline of other people’s treadmills (Running in the gym)
- Continued looking at clock to hope torture will end; awkward apologizing for bumping into other people, fervent promises to self to finally learn difference between Left and Right (Dance class)
- Existential angst over weight of own arms. How can shoulders possibly be expected to cope? Has anyone ever had their arms fall off? Why is no-one taking my concerns seriously? (Boxing class)
- Perpetual irritation that other people are not increasing gears at same rate as self. Often dark. (Spinning class)
- How is it when one starts to think about something, it stops working? Am I even breathing at all? Am I dead? Is this hell? (Yoga class)
- My machine is wrong. (Pilates class)
- I’m far too high and I don’t trust my rope at all (Wall climbing)
- You fooled me with your initial caring and friendly outlook and now I hate you and there’s nowhere to hide (PT session)
- I used to be much better at this. (Tennis lesson)
unfashionablylost 