DIASPOMAN : Why I prefer weightlifting to the Golf club

I have now joined the band wagon of people who go for sports during the weekend. For me, my favourite sport has always been weightlifting. When I talk about weightlifting, I do not refer to those heavy dumbbells found in Gymnasiums. No way! What I really mean is that I enjoy lifting that huge glass of nice and frothy beer manufactured all the way from Bralirwa.

I have now joined the band wagon of people who go for sports during the weekend. For me, my favourite sport has always been weightlifting.

When I talk about weightlifting, I do not refer to those heavy dumbbells found in Gymnasiums. No way! What I really mean is that I enjoy lifting that huge glass of nice and frothy beer manufactured all the way from Bralirwa.

When I lift that glass and move it towards my ever thirsty mouth, I just convince myself that this is more than sufficient when it comes to exercising my muscles.  

But now Aggrey and his rich friends have been convincing me that weightlifting is much more than lifting a glass of beer at La Luna in Kicukiro! They have been preaching to me that I should join a real sports centre and begin stretching my muscles.

I obliged and sheepishly followed them to Nyarutarama tennis club which happens to be very popular when it comes to aerobics. It is here that you will find all shapes and sizes.

In terms of Gender balance, I must say that the gym comprises 99.99% ladies. The few guys who go to this sports centre find themselves scrambling for nice positions in the hall.  

They will be seen fighting to stand in the hind lines so that they feed their eyes to the maximum. The hottest fights are usually in the positions where the guys scramble to stand behind a nice looking lady in her mid 20s.

The guys don’t want to stand behind the old ladies as they struggle to bend and touch their toes in the name of aerobics.

So when Aggrey and his friends took me there, I was not surprised when they shoved me towards a place where in front of me were several ladies who happened to be in their late 40s. After the session, I told the guys that I had become bored.  

Then they decided we go to the Golf club and swing that golf club. Aggrey agreed, especially since it was “A rich man’s game”. As for me, I just followed them religiously. Whenever I am with Aggrey, I do not pay for anything so the idea of Golf was quite appealing. 

At the Golf course, the instructor introduced us to the basics of the game. “There are 18 holes at every golf course. Be prepared to cover all of them, alright?” OK! So we started to practice swinging the golf club. We swung and hit the ball and then followed the ball everywhere it landed.

This was fast becoming a tiresome game as it involved too much walking. We also had to carry our heavy kit as we followed the tiny golf ball all around. I then found myself whispering to the instructor; “Don’t you have the 19th hole?”  

The instructor looked at me in a puzzled manner. “What do you mean? You even haven’t reached the third hole let alone the 18th? And here you are asking about an extra 19th hole?” I responded confidently, “Yes sir, I am going to look for that extra hole. I am no longer interested in this game anyway.”

So I marched back to the bar at the Golf club and sat on a stool. I told the barmaid to give me the 19th hole. For her, she happened to be bright enough when I mentioned the words 19th hole.

“Okay sir, so will it be an Amstel or a Bell beer?” Now she was talking! Yes, please, give me an ice cold Amstel in a heavy looking glass. I want to exercise my muscles…
   
diaspoman@yahoo.com 

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