Spot the idiot in the corner...

Spotters. Any regular gym-goer will understand how important spotting is, and what can go wrong without it.

For the uninitiated, a spotter will support you during a particular exercise, stepping in to help you out when the weight you're pointlessly pushing up and down, or out and in, gets too much for you.

On Monday, I really could have done with a spotter.

First, let's set the scene. I've noticed that a Monday night is the busiest time of the week to work on the guns (or peashooters, as I've christened my biceps). There's been no scientific study conducted, but I can only presume that plenty of folk are looking to give their week a much-needed kickstart, to begin their week as they mean to go on. Most will be looking to work of a particularly glutinous weekend, filled with booze, food and general revelry.

I've been off all day, but I can't bring myself to make the short walk down to Greens. So I wait. Hours of procrastination passes and then I pack my bags and set off. It's 6.30pm. Or, in other words, chock-a-block time at the gym.

I've spoken of the exercise programme given to me by a friend, and tonight I plan on continuing it, beginning week four of six. Eight minutes on the treadmill is followed by a quick 50 push-ups, aimed to get the blood flowing to the chest where much of the strain of what is to come will be placed.

Then, my most hated exercise. Pull-ups. And not just normal ones, where your hands face you with a narrow grip. No, full-blown, Will Smith in I Am Legend-style wide grip with palms facing away from you. It's not as easy as the Fresh Prince made it look. My programme calls for 20, and I deliver, albeit in about seven long, gruelling sets.

I move onto the Smith machine and begin my squats routine. I start with a light weight and slowly build up. I know I've reached my maximum when I feel a wave of dizziness overcome me. A handy tip for anybody looking to get in shape - make squats and deadlifts the centerpiece of your routine. There is nothing better for a full-body workout.

Legs struggling to support me, I take a welcome seat, ready for my next torture session. Incline barbell press. Similar to the typical bench press, the bench you lie on is elevated slightly, placing a greater emphasis on your upper chest.

I begin. The first set passes without incident, as does the second. I add another 2.5kg to each side - hardly a huge amount but enough to feel it on the third set. Still, I manage.

Then, cockiness takes over. I add another 5kg to the bar. I push up, and the bar seems willing to acquiesce. At first, anyway. Five reps in and I'm hurting, but I make an almighty effort for one final push.

The bar will not move. It lays across my chest, quite the thing. I breathe. Don't panic, I think. Just take a moment to relax then push up. It doesn't work.

The gym is heaving, but I don't want to shout for help and draw attention to myself. So I roll the bar down to my knee, planning to sit up and lift it onto the ground.

I stand, but the earlier squats have left my balance off. The bar begins to fall at one side. It's at this point I realise I've made a rookie error - I haven't secured the weights to the bar.

The crash echoes across the gym as the weights slip from the bar to the hard ground below. Now, the other side can't take the strain and does the same. Eight discs come crashing to the floor. Everybody stops, and looks up to see me frantically trying to clean up my mess.

Next time, bring a spotter.