“Ooooof!!!” it cries, as I step on the scales.
This is not encouraging. A few seconds later, it has told me with brutal computerised honesty that I am ‘overweight’.
‘Overweight!’ – the thing is clearly calibrated incorrectly. I gaze at its smug graphic representation in anger.
The LTLP steps on. Hahahahaha!!! She is obese!!! Obese!!! I point and laugh.
I am as yet unsure as to how this equipment is meant to bring families together.
Two hundred-odd quid seems quite an expensive way of facilitating running on the spot and getting the odd bit of abuse, but I am always open-minded to new things and am determined to give it a chance. It is disappointing that the free games you get with it are all tennis and baseball and stuff rather than anything to do with running people over and killing prostitutes, but I have a go at them cheerfully.
As far as I can ascertain, the fundamental flaw is that the thing is not designed for people who live in small cottages. The beams that run across the living room hover at most two inches above my head; I have already half killed myself during a particularly enthusiastic ski-jump. The yoga stuff all has to be adapted, and half the muscle workouts are inaccessible to me.
I have been weighing myself regularly, and have steadily put on a pound or two each day.