As I write this, I’m shooting furtive glances to the gym bag sitting next to my left foot.
Tonight, it’s whispering to me in a smug little voice, tonight you return to the scene of the crime.
It was roughly around this time last week I logged onto my local gym’s website to check up on the class times for the evening ahead. Pre-caffeinated and slightly distracted, I jotted down my usual class time, and carried on working. Mistake #1.
Bouncing out of work and off to the gym, I was unusually optimistic about my standard Tuesday evening routine: half an hour jog on the treadmill, followed by a fairly relaxed 60 minute weights class. Strolling into the change rooms, I didn’t bother checking the class timetable mounted on the wall, because you know, I’m a regular. Mistake #2.
Shorts on, hair tied back, and nose deep into a rapid text conversation with my bestie, I pushed through the masses at the door of my gym class to secure my usual spot in the middle. As the digital clock on the wall ticked over to 6.30pm, I tucked my phone under the gym mat and looked up.
No one else had mats. WHY WERE THERE NO MATS? I froze. Mistake #3.
And that, my friends, was how I found myself smack bang in the middle of a nightmare: I was trapped in a Body Attack gym class and there was no way out.
‘Body Attack’: A high energy, aerobics-style gym class, that combines fast paced sequences with cardio based intervals.
The word ‘attack’ is not used lightly in the description: this class attacks you from every angle. It will attack your sense of co-ordination, it will attack your resilience in the face of utter humiliation, and it will attack a strange muscle on the top of your foot, one I was previously unaware existed.