Weighty Issues

The gym was all mine this morning: a private gym just for the sole use of a driven woman who woke up the sparrows first fart cheep and thought she would go and get the necessary done before she had time to find all the reasons to abstain.

There was a time, long ago, when the gym used to appeal, and I'm struggling to think why. At that time, and that gym, there was a swimming pool attached and I enjoyed the sheer bliss of an effortless cool swim after my exertions.
Somehow doing lengths in the water is much less boring to me than climbing the equivalent of a skyscraper just so that I can eat something vaguely naughty during the day.

But no luck with the current gym: there is no pool, although in it's favour, it's a quick hop, step and jump from the Dower House, so that there's no time to change your mind on the journey.

These weights in my blip are in constant demand by the young muscle bound men who frequent the corner of the gym where six packs and biceps are the currency.

Very seldom do these males do any aerobic activity like climbing to the equivalent top of the Empire State building or skiing across Austria.

No they lift and grunt with contorted faces and let the weights fall to the ground with a thud like a bomb going off, all the while their veins are standing out on their sweaty foreheads and their biceps are exploding through the t-shirt sleeves on their upper arms.
The wall to wall mirrors are integral to the perceived beauty of their young bodies.

Meanwhile the ladies are climbing, skiing and running without a trace of glow any where: oh, except for yours truly whose face is bright red and who is mopping her brow with a towel. Not a pretty sight so it's just as well there are no mirrors this end of the gym.

Now my diligence on the exercise front will not preclude me from the lunch his Lordship is planning on the other side of the Forth.

Edit. Lunch has been had and much more interesting photos taken of a fire tender on the Forth giving a wonderful display of water power.