Gymbox Covent Gardens is a sexy mix of cinema (imagine,
giant glowing billboard, beckoning you in), Hollister (only extremely
attractive model type people need apply as staff) and nightclub (there’s actually
a DJ on at peak times between 6 and 8 blasting out the grooves from his booth
above the treadmills – true story).
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| www.gymbox.co.uk |
Don’t be fooled by the playful exterior (signs guarding the entrance to the
sauna warn “No Chemicals, No Unsightly Towels, No Inflatable Dolphins”), or the PR (see image) this
gym means serious business with row after row of gleaming gym and boxing
equipment.
After striding purposely through a forest of punch bags, I strutted
my way into the boxing ring dominating the main studio as the DJ, on cue,
started to play ‘Can’t touch this’. I
felt good, professional even, until I realised I'd walked into ‘advanced Mai
Thai’ class.
Sensing my fear, no one in the class volunteered to partner with me so a stocky girl was forced to spar with me by the instructor. She made me pay for this by beating the beshizzle out of me with ten sharp kicks to the left rib cage. As I winced in the most manly ways I know possible, she smiled a smile that said ‘You couldn't bust a grape in a fruit fight’ and kicked me ten times more on the right rib cage. Thoroughly rattled, it was my turn. My revenge opportunity was short lived as the instructor, unimpressed with my weakling punches and kicks banished me out of the ring to train on my own. After ten minutes of one to one training, I was invited back in to show off my new found moves.
Everyone had gloves except for me. “Can I spar without gloves?” I asked timidly to the stocky girl. “No” she puffed in disgust, looking down at my gloveless hands as if I were naked at a children’s party. Told that I might find some gloves in one of the ringside lockers, I spied, deep in the darkest of corners, a smelly, damp pair of reject gloves, which squelched with sweat as I eased my hands in. Left hook, squelch, right jab squelch, upper cut squelch – great fun.
I came away from Gymbox with new skills - I now know Mai Thai is a lethal kicking and punching martial art - not a harmless cocktail; that one mustn’t bring dolphins into saunas; and damn it, it feels good to have your own DJ than a pair of tinny earphones.
Sensing my fear, no one in the class volunteered to partner with me so a stocky girl was forced to spar with me by the instructor. She made me pay for this by beating the beshizzle out of me with ten sharp kicks to the left rib cage. As I winced in the most manly ways I know possible, she smiled a smile that said ‘You couldn't bust a grape in a fruit fight’ and kicked me ten times more on the right rib cage. Thoroughly rattled, it was my turn. My revenge opportunity was short lived as the instructor, unimpressed with my weakling punches and kicks banished me out of the ring to train on my own. After ten minutes of one to one training, I was invited back in to show off my new found moves.
Everyone had gloves except for me. “Can I spar without gloves?” I asked timidly to the stocky girl. “No” she puffed in disgust, looking down at my gloveless hands as if I were naked at a children’s party. Told that I might find some gloves in one of the ringside lockers, I spied, deep in the darkest of corners, a smelly, damp pair of reject gloves, which squelched with sweat as I eased my hands in. Left hook, squelch, right jab squelch, upper cut squelch – great fun.
I came away from Gymbox with new skills - I now know Mai Thai is a lethal kicking and punching martial art - not a harmless cocktail; that one mustn’t bring dolphins into saunas; and damn it, it feels good to have your own DJ than a pair of tinny earphones.
If you like cinema, nightclubs, beating punch bags while
pretending they’re people you hate and becoming buff like those topless models
at Hollister (and come on, who doesn’t) Gymbox
is the gym for you!
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