Some exclusions apply.
You Can Dress Us Up, But You Can't Take Us Out!
During the short couple of months that we had from rugby, I decided that I needed to work on my fitness. My main reasoning for this was so I wouldn’t be going into the spring season out of breath during the warm-up lap (getting old sucks). I have found that the buddy system works best because you have someone to suffer with, as well… Someone to get you to the gym when all you really want to do is drink several beers on the couch with your hand in your pants. I have always been one to try new things—that’s, of course, how I found rugby.
Well, there was a new gym in the neighborhood. Well not my neighborhood, but the rich people neighborhood next door. It consisted of Yoga, circuit and cycle, the whole works. I had never done any of those and, to be honest, they gave you a week free so the original plan was to go for a week and then find several other gyms with the same offer (we got sucked in).
So there we were at this bourgeoisie joint, wearing our rugby t-shirts and torn-up shorts with the rest of the participants in $75 outfits. These were the kind of broads that would wear the latest outfits in an attempt to lure whatever hot Latin trainer there was back to their place before their husbands got home.
There was one class that we were first drawn to and decided to take it every Friday, because it made us feel a little better about drinking. What made it even more interesting to us was that they gave you a drink after you were done, FREE OF CHARGE!
We took this class three weeks in a row and did not participate in the drinking afterward. Well, the fourth week we decided that we deserved a drink. We were dripping with sweat after pushing ourselves to our cycling max and we didn't care if we didn't fit in, we were rugby players.
Most people know that after working out alcohol seems to hit you a little differently than if you were just lounging around. We forgot this point and started off with a glass of wine (it was either that or beer, so why not pretend to be classy?). Well, one turned into two, three, four, five, twenty beers. Needless to say we got our monthly membership fee out of that place.
One of the owners eventually came over and told us that he called a cab for us and refused to let us drive our sweaty bodies back to the house, while other members that were just getting out of classes were giggling and smirking at the drunken, load rugby players.
We have been banned from "Happy Hour" classes unless we promise not to participate in the drinking afterwards. Just goes to show that you can dress us up, but you can't take us out!