Wet T-shirts

I went on my first ever trip to the gym last night. I was looking for an aerobics class but I ended up in a room filled with medieval torture machines and I willingly strapped myself in to a number of them. After 20mins (this might be an exaggeration - I may have only been there for 2 mins) I was covered in sweat and my t-shirt was wringing. My legs were wobbly and my face was red from a mixture of 'oh dear god I'm gonna pass out' and 'oh christ, don't look at me, don't look at me, don't LOOK at me'.
I think I'll go back, no hunk of metal, plastic and flashy orangey lights is gonna defeat me.
Also speaking of hunks - a gym ain't the place to find any- instead it seems to be populated by men with enormous bodies but tiny heads. Its really disconcerting to speak to them. You keep waiting for the body to wander off to do its own thing while the tiny head hovers in front of you to continue the conversation.
And don't get me started on the dressing room, my eyes are burning. I think I might have actually inadvertently uttered the words 'Oh dear Lord woman, where's yer vest'. I was definitely thinking prudish thoughts along the lines of 'it's Ireland not the bleedy Med' or 'oh we're all European now, are we?