ABPA — The Australian Bush Poets Association Inc.

The Man from Lightning Ridge Goes to the Gym

© David Stanley

Winner, Humorous Section, 2024 Oracles of the Bush, Tenterfield, NSW.

It was the man from Lightning Ridge, who thought he’d join a gym.
His mates said, “Don’t be stupid,” but he bravely ventured in.
A female gym instructor said, “I’ll show this bloke the rope.”
She whispered to her colleague, “This bloke doesn’t have a hope.

Look, he’s wearing tradesman’s boots and a navy singlet top.
His shorts look like they haven’t seen a wash tub since the shop.
He still has his Akubra on, this really is a joke.”
“No way,” she said with confidence, “This fellas’ got no hope.”

“Still…he’s here”, her colleague said, “And he ought to have a try,
Go’arn, give the bloke a chance, before we kiss his fee goodbye.”
The female gym instructor said, “You’ll need to change your gear.”
She showed him to a change room; saying, “Hey, get changed in here.”

Soon the man from Lightning Ridge, reappeared in lycra shorts.
He had a trendy tea-shirt on, dressed now for gym-based sports.
He felt a little foolish, as he held his belly in.
He wished he’d kept his mine shorts on, they showed a lot less skin.

He started with some stretches, and he strained to touch his toes,
While reaching for a right-side stretch, his back just went and froze.
“OK,” she said, “I’ve seen enough, there’s other stuff to try.”
He’d been at it 20 seconds, he felt like he would die.

“Please try your hand at riding, it’s a workout you might like.”
He staggered with his back still sore and climbed upon a bike.
She set the program going, called out, “Pedal if you can!”
He thought, ‘I’ll show this woman, I am not just any man.’

He’d never been a rider, his legs soon turned to jelly.
The sweat beads started growing and dropping to his belly.
His breast heaved and contorted, as his body showed the strain.
His heart rate rose to 95, then doubled once again.

He tried to do a warm-down, but his legs just wouldn’t stop.
The veins upon his temples looked like they were set to pop.
He felt like he’d been beaten by a bloomin’ cricket bat.
And once the program ended, he flopped onto the mat.

“Perhaps a gentler exercise will better suit your skill?
The leg press can be fun, although you’re pushing weight uphill.”
The man from Lightning Ridge, was still flat-out upon the floor.
He thought, ‘She’s trying to kill me, she must know my wife for sure.’

He staggered to his feet and then got set to lift the weight.
His legs began to buckle, and his pupils did dilate.
His face was all contorted as he struggled at the press.
And he’d only moved the weight up, about an inch or less.

“Maybe you should try some boxing? You look the sort to fight.
The punching ball might well suit you; I think you’ll do alright.”
He put-on boxing gloves and thought, ‘this punching lark is fine.’
Then let loose with a round-house punch but didn’t move in time.

The ball recoiled quite wildly, it jumped back and struck his nose.
The blood then started flowing, torrents ran onto his clothes.
They bandaged up his face and now he felt just like a fool.
They stopped the boxing practice and enforced a strict ‘blood-rule’.

“That shows my arms are stronger, maybe barbells are for me.
A curl bar might be useful, can we have a go, and see?”
She stood to ‘spot’ in case he failed to get the bar up high.
He took a breath and pumped his arms, then gave the lift a try.

His arms were strong and steady, and he moved the bar quite well,
But then he let a trump go - he was crippled by the smell.
The female gym instructor started retching where she stood.
Her spotting skills had left her, she would be no bloomin’ good.

At first the bar was steady, but the smell was quite a pong.
His arms began to wobble, and his grip would not last long.
The barbell started sliding from his left hands loosened grip.
The weights they started shifting, slowly all began to slip.

A small weight came free from the bar, and gravity is cruel.
It bounced upon his belly and then struck his family jewel.
The noise he made was shocking and he grasped his groin in pain.
The weight then dropped on to his foot, he hollered out again.

The smell had made him falter and the foot pain made him cry.
His family jewel now flattened brought a tear drop to his eye.
He lay upon the bench press, with the bar across his chest.
One hand nursed his swollen crutch, he’d the other on his breast.

The female gym instructor was in stitches on the floor.
She’d had some funny customers, but none like this before.
She rolled about and coughed and cried upon the Yoga mat.
Eventually she said, “Oi, you should put some ice on that.”

It was the man from Lightning Ridge, who felt both sore and sad.
He had an ice compress, pressed up against his sore gonad.
The lycra couldn’t hold it, as it swelled to trice its size.
It popped out from the shorts - bringing more tears to his eyes.

He’d never been a shy man, but everyone was staring.
He wished it was his work shorts that he could now be wearing.
His mum had said, “That pride will surely come before a fall.”
Now it looked like he was nursing, his own; ‘medicine ball.’

They gave the man from Lightning Ridge a refund of his fee.
They said, “That you can come on back, at any time for free.”
And now about the mine head, he will scoff about his luck.
He tells them all the story of the day his ‘bits’ got struck.

“Avoid those gyms and fitness clubs, they’re only after money,
and then when you get injured, they simply think it’s funny.”
And whether he’s believed or no, just listen when he talks,
his voice is somewhat higher, like a Cocky when it squawks.


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