Going to the Gym. Nasium.

You might be under the impression that 'gym' is an abbreviation of the word 'gymnasium'. This is not the case. Gym is a modern, hygenic, luxurious temple of fitness. At gym there are pools, saunas, expensive equipment, good-looking people.

A gymnasium is found at the other end of the leisure spectrum. The very distant end of the spectrum, where the concept of leisure starts to become blurred with the concept of torture.

GYMNASIUM MANDATORIES:

 •Aircraft hangar-like size.
 •Sub-zero temperatures (due to aircraft hangar-like size). 
 •Baby-poo brown walls (glistening with damp).
 •Wall clock stopped at 3.15.
 •Mysterious midget-sized doors, permanently locked, with puddles spreading out from under them.
 •Windows that remain forever open to the elements because they are so unbelievably high up the walls that no one can ever reach them. Apart from, well, gymnasts.
 •Dusty wooden plaques bearing the illustrious names of now-deceased people who were much, much better at sport than you.

Arriving at the gymnasium to pursue the obscure leisure activity of my choice, I was faced with a choice: (1) disrobe in the chilly porcelain-tiled meat-locker or 'changing room', (2) perform a contortionist-style change of clothing in the car, which has a heater.

Trying to wriggle into the sports bra between passers-by and oncoming headlights was tricky, but eventually I was ready for action. I entered the gymnasium and discovered that due to injury, the opposing team had forfeited the badminton match.