Well, my time in New Zealand will be coming to a premature end in a couple of weeks. Unfortunately, my hamstring injury has continued to hamper me, and I have made the decision to return back to Northampton about a month earlier than planned in order to rest up from playing, get regular treatment and continue my rehab exercises.

I will miss many things here. Some of the most entertaining have been my trips to the gym. I have blogged about this in the past, but when you work-out by yourself it is a great opportunity for some ‘people watching’ as well as some deep-thinking.

My mood in the gym has a direct influence on my decisions. For example, if I am feeling extremely energetic, then for my run I will choose a treadmill next to someone who looks to have extreme athletic ability. At MISH, my regular gym, these type are very common. It is the base in NZ for many of the national representative athletes. When I’m running along side someone who has the same ability as me, as a minimum, it pushes me to run harder and further. Purely so I don’t embarrass myself and I prove to be of the same ability level as them. I don’t want to look inadequate.

The other extreme is when I feel a bit low on energy and self-esteem. There is sure to be a pensioner on one of the treadmills and all it takes is 10 minutes on a level that is double their inevitable walking pace. They have to go slow in order to prevent their hearts from exploding out of their chests. Even after a meager 10 minutes, the look of ‘ooo…. you are a strong young man’ is enough to boost my ego and move onto the weights.

I see the same people if I go to the gym at the same time each day. There is one gentleman whose attendance is admirable. The fact that I am always there to see him hopefully demands similar mutual respect. Every day between the hours of 12 and 1 he would be there working extremely hard.

My acknowledgment of him took the usual route. In the same way as when you visit a urinal and you must never ever chat to the stranger next to you and most definitely must not look down, there are rules. After about a fortnight it was acceptable to offer a nod of appreciation. Another week further on one may verbally greet one another. After a month, and a good month at that, I was in the position to ask him to ‘spot’ (watch over me) whilst I upped the ante on my weight-lifting. Even in this scenario chatter must be kept to a minimum. This is more for safety reasons that any other. If concentration was broken and niceties exchanged the lifting of heavy weights can become dangerous.

Now we were practically brothers, I was able to engage in further conversation. I almost regretted it. Jimmy was his name, and he was Northern Irish (a perfect stereotype for the New Zealand locals). He moved over here to work in IT and Telecoms for Sky TV. He doesn’t do this anymore. He still worked for Sky, but now worked in “censorship”.

“Oh,” I replied. “There doesn’t seem to be the same water-shed rules over here, as there are in the UK. Is that the area you mean you work in?” I had quickly noticed that day-time nudity and swearing was not uncommon on New Zealand TV and radio.

“No. Well actually,” (cue embarrassed giggle), “I work for the adult channels, and monitoring what hits the screens.” Stunned. My silence was perhaps deliberately interrupted quite quickly, as he noticed my jaw lowering to the floor. Jimmy went on to chat about how big an industry it was, despite the fact that law states they are not allowed to advertise the channels. This gave the conversation a more credible angle, and we went on the discuss business more generally and Jimmy reminded me his specialist area was actually IT and telecoms. However, until he was asked to join that department again, his job was basically to watch porn and assess its, err, quality.

I see Jimmy regularly, and he is more than happy to keep spotting me. It takes all kinds.