The Midnight Zoomies Gym

Blog

  • Plank Month Results Are In, and Frankly I Am Moved

    Plank Month has ended. Recruits were instructed to hold perfect planks on the narrow top of the sofa back for as long as they could stand. The average hold time was 41 seconds, which is a disgrace, except for Mrs. Tuppence, who held for four minutes and eleven seconds while watching a moth she was not allowed to chase.

    That, recruits, is discipline. That is a cat who understood the moth was a test. She will receive the Gold Whistle, a whistle none of us can blow. Everyone else will receive an apology from me, and then a longer plank next month. I am not sorry about the plank.

  • Hydration Is Not Optional, Recruit

    Water. You will drink it. I do not care that the bowl is beside the dishwasher and that a different, more glamorous water drips from the tap. The tap is for show. The bowl is for results.

    Private Noodle, who last week completed 31 laps and then collapsed into a sink, has asked me to remind you that the sink is not a hydration station. It is a disaster waiting politely. If you must drink from the tap, do it with discipline: two laps, two sips, one furious look at the faucet for dripping at you.

    Hydration standards are posted on the fridge door. Read them. Or at least sit on them.

  • Member Complaint: The Human Who Switched On the Light

    At 4:05 last Thursday, a human entered the hallway and turned on the overhead light mid sprint. Three members reported momentary blindness and one reported a loss of confidence in the entire concept of the night. This is unacceptable and the Gym has filed a formal protest, in the form of a stare through the bedroom door.

    We remind all members that lights are for amateurs and the night belongs to the professionals. Should a human intrude again, the approved response is to stop dead, look at the human, and then resume sprinting at triple speed. Do not explain. Explanations are for the weak.

  • Sergeant Biscuit’s Curtain Climb Qualifier

    Saturday night, 3:30 sharp, we hold the annual Curtain Climb Qualifier in the lounge. The challenge is to ascend the heavy green drapes to the pelmet in under nine seconds, survey the room, and descend with at least some dignity. Judges are Corporal Pickle, Private Noodle, and a stuffed mouse named Gerald who has seen things.

    Fabric damage is part of the event, and the Gym accepts no liability for threads, holes, or the faint sound of your human sighing from the next room. Last year’s champion, Recruit Toffee, set the record at 7.4 seconds. She was never seen again. She is now running the pelmet.

  • Pre Zoomie Fuel Policy: Read It Twice

    I have heard rumours that recruits are eating a full bowl before the 2:59 bell. This ends today. A full stomach is a ballast, and a ballast does not leap onto a bookshelf. The Gym recommends exactly eleven kibble, chewed with intent, followed by a small sip of water you pretend to be annoyed about.

    Corporal Pickle will weigh the kibble personally on the brass scale at the front desk. If you are carrying a second dinner, you will be redirected to the Light Duties Corner, where the sunlit rug and a ceiling fan await your regret. Fuel is a tool. Do not make it a hobby.

  • The Hallway Sprint Standard, Explained

    Recruit Marmalade asked me yesterday what counts as a proper hallway sprint. Good question, soldier, and the answer is simple: fourteen metres, one wall, zero reason. A sprint without a reason is the purest sprint there is. If you can explain why you ran, you were merely walking quickly with ambition.

    The standard is as follows. Eyes wide. Ears pinned like a pair of tiny fighter jets. Tail puffed to at least one and a half times its normal volume. Finish by bouncing sideways off the skirting board. Recruits who finish upright will do it again. Recruits who finish upside down will receive a small ribbon and a silence of respect.

  • Recruits, Your Night Begins Now

    Listen up, you magnificent bags of fluff. From this evening the Midnight Zoomies Gym operates a strict schedule: doors open at 2:59 and close at 4:41. That is one hour and forty two minutes of pure, undiluted sprinting. No dawdling. No licking a paw halfway down the hall and calling it cardio.

    Latecomers will be assigned to Corporal Pickle for remedial skidding. Early arrivals will be assigned to the sofa for remedial sleeping. I will be at the end of the hallway, staring at you. That is all. Dismissed. Actually, no. Go. Go now. Why are you still here? It is 2:58. GO.