A 3DO disk that represented a journey into uncharted territory. Into the bleak unknown. A world - so alien - so utterly unfathomable - that I may never be the same again.
"Step". "3DO ESPN - Step Aerobics".
Lord have mercy on my soul.
To fully appreciate this title I donned the "Mighty shorts of doom!". And exposed the "Spindly-legs of pastiness". Much like the last frozen crinkle-cut chip in the packet - I stared at the TV, 3DO controller in my trembling hands. Look of tripidation on my face.
Of cause 'Step' is a womans' things. Like Tampons. Eastenders. Anything involving Leonardo Di Caprio. Lipstick. Blogs. Yes - I used cliches and rhetoric in an attempt to console myself.
As a male I think I lack the genetic composition to understand fitness videos. Something in that Y-chromosome that washed that bit away. Or maybe all the love lavished on fitness CD's was stored in that missing X-chromosome? Who knows? Who cares?
Still there it was. Me. The TV. My 3DO and Miss York. Her full of bravado, surrounded by a Camera crew and her cronies. Me full of embarrassment and alone in my lounge.
These things draw out the cynical in me. They really do. The more enthusiastic a person - the more cynical I become. The more Tracy raved - the more I pouted in disapproval. Call it instinct. Call it cowardice. Call it male-ego. Call it a primeval urge to go 'Meh...'. I felt my jowls heading south. Same direction as my stomach. ...and my self confidence.
It didn't help that I strongly suspected she probably featured more male hormones than me. She looked a bit scary. Nothing like a real woman. She gave me the creeps.
Thick unnatural thighs. No real 'bumps'. And arms that look like she could arm wrestle and beat an angry gorilla. I was intimated by a woman on a 12 year old disk. In a film made 6,000 miles away.
Before it started I switched it off. I couldn't face it. No thanks.
Exercise 3DO disks are not for me.
I thank you.
Rare - meh?
3DO Kid.
