A lot can change in three years. Children can grow, Justin Bieber can become cool, Australia can cycle through 25 Prime Ministers…
Until yesterday morning at 9am, I had not set foot in a gym for three years.
If you are clutching your medicine ball in horror, I feel you, but don’t call the doctor. I have done some exercise in the last three years. Just not in the gym. And, you know, not much.
But things have been getting out of hand. If I sit cross-legged on the floor to play with my kids, when I stand up I hobble like I am 92. I am not 92. My regular “runs” have become less like runs, and less regular. The stairs at work leave me breathless. My lower back aches when I wake up.
So. You know. IT’S TIME.
And so. I went to the gym near my house and signed an iPad with my finger and gave them my credit card details and then I went and found my old smelly workout clothes at the bottom of a drawer and I walked into what used to be my very favourite class – SPIN.
Not Soul Cycle, or Life Cycle, or even RPM. Just Spin. A load of stationary bikes in a darkened room with very loud music and a trainer who yells at you. Good times. I like to think of it as clubbing for old people.
Twenty-four hours later and I have barely recovered. And not (just) from the exertion. (Post continues after gallery.)
Let’s just say, things have changed at the gym. Things like:
People dress up.
If you’re under 30, you might not believe this. But people used to wear baggy T-shirts and leggings from Best And Less when they exercised. Free promotional clothes, their flatmate’s old Singha singlet, that was the stuff you sweated in. A pair of LuLuLemon tights cost more than the dress I wear to weddings. My sweaty self is going nowhere near those things.
And they take pictures.
It’s hard for me to express how good-looking the woman on the spin bike in front of me was. She was so gorgeous, in nothing but her sports bra and pale grey LuLus (pale grey, with not a sweat patch on them, is she human?), with her tasteful star side-boob tats and her immaculate French braid swinging across the hill climbs. Her bum was so perfect and her legs were so long and she was RIGHT IN FRONT ME. I could barely look away, and was tempted to take a picture, just to prove her existence. Luckily, she was taking lots of those herself. So, afterwards, I tried it:
This is MY post-gym selfie. HOT HOT HOT. Actually, I was fricking boiling.
There were CHILDREN in there.
In spin class. A boy, who looked about 11. Turns out, he's a member, part of the gym's KIDFIT program. No judgement here, but shouldn't an 11-year-old be out riding an ACTUAL BIKE on a Sunday morning, you know, OUTSIDE? Okay so that sounded a lot like judgement.