Day 3: Hace dos días

What I saw:

1. towel draped over side of bathtub
2. people on line outside coffee truck
3. traffic on Old Street
4. new students, some very cute, registering in lobby
5. my class waiting for me in room 409
6. oooo backpack on floor of glass cube
7. my clothes hanging on door of shower room at gym
8. my iPod plugged into the gym's stereo
9. Upper Street full of post-work commuters
10. dinner dishes in the sink

8. My iPod at the Gym

I start my warm-up on the treadmill and trainer John asks me how I'm feeling. The speed reads 11 which is fast for a warm-up. I say I had a cranky weekend for no real reason and he pushes the speed button up to 12. The whir of the machine at my feet slap against the canvas.

He says music helps when he's like that. I say I've been looking for new tunes and a man in jeans and a dress shirt walks in front of the treadmill, heading to the physio office. John speeds up the pace and my stride follows suit.

"I want to hear a Bob playlist," he says, and when the warm-up is over he sends me for my iPod. "DJ Bob is in the house," he announces as he plugs it it.  I'm sure the red-shirted trainer boys have better things to listen to and won't like it.  My "long run" playlist.

"It's eclectic," I say, hoping the first song on shuffle won't be too homocentric.

We go to the chin up bar and a disco re-mix, keeping the homo in homocentric, comes on. A remix of Will Young's first song. Evergreen. It was a ballad when he won Pop Idol (or X Factor, or whatever it was called back then) with it. Trainer John is singing along, his hands just above my waist as he gives me an assist to finish the set.  He knows the words. N is coaching his client through a series of walking lunges. Better him than me.

We move to the bench for reverse pull ups. Super sets with press ups ('cause I'm in the UK, remember, and they're not push ups here). In between sets, W (who I had a a trainer affair with while John was on holiday), blows me a kiss while he checks his phone between clients. These are the gayest group of straight boys I've ever met. The banter and camaraderie always makes the hard work more enjoyable. They all seem to genuinely love their work. It creates an amazing energy. And fit lads flirting with you never hurts.  "I miss you," W silently says from across the room. John says 10 more seconds rest. Time to get back under the bar and pull.  Back days are hard for me.

Another set and N is now tapping his foot to Born To Run — not a re-mix,  told you it was eclectic — while he checks the form of his client's plank. 

It's strange to hear my music on the loud speakers. I never listen to this mix unless I'm running. What is usually just in my head is now the whole gym's soundtrack.

Fast forward to end of session. It was a tough but excellent work out. I get more than my money's worth here. I'm showered and changed and head to the stereo. John's with his next client, putting him through warm-up paces on the treadmill. "See you Thursday, Big Bob," he yells across the gym.

I turn down The Killers mid-song, and unplug the pod.

"Booooo," yells N.

W chimes in with another "Booo" and soon a half dozen red-shirted trainers (all who knew my name by the end of my 2nd session) are boooing me, and some of the clients as well.

"You've changed, Bob," N says. "You used to be such a nice guy.  And now you take away our music?"

"Did you want me to leave my phone here till Thursday?"  I pull the top CD off the stack next to the stereo. It's a compilation of Christmas songs. Random. I hold it up. "Shall I put on a little Christmas?"

W re-racks the kettleball he'd been making his client swing. "It can't be Christmas if you're leaving," he tells me and gives me a wink goodbye.