my arse is broken…

i wonder if that’s why its called a bum “crack” and other tales post-gin…

You read gin and got excited didn’t you? I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. Ha! Fooled you. I meant gym. G.Y.M. That much-hated cesspool of germy, sweat riddled bodies and underarms and unwashed nylon that smells like the 6.27pm bus in Madras. Urgh. Gyms.

I haven’t been to one since Second Born was born and right now I am questioning my life and my choices. I’m questioning if I will be able to sit down for the next week or two and I am questioning if this magical mature body is giving the very pretty young things anxiety… or if it is the other way around. And also please don’t just say “mature”. Could you say it with an accent? Like ‘mat-tuaré’. See? That already sounds so much better…

I’m also questioning if I will survive this new chapter in my life. Not to be dramatic or anything… I’m just saying.

But I am not here to talk about my figure or yours or about body image or science or nutrition or any of that. I mean, if going to the gym helps me lose a gentle 5 to 12 kg I will not be overly upset, but that is not the purpose of this exercise. I am writing now because it may help me get clarity on some things - and so I will list them here in no particular order.

Gyms in general - I have never been a gym person. I hate strutting about in ill-fitting Lycra and I really don’t love having my flibbertygibbers on display under those flouro lights. I don’t like most of the music they play, it’s so loud I can’t think, and also I don’t recognize most of it. Left to me I’d have 70s-00s ballads, love songs and daggy dance tunes on repeat.

Yoga at Gyms - I have a new appreciation for yoga in a yoga studio. Yoga at the gym is like listening to an audiobook on 1.5x. There’s no time for a warm-up. There’s no time for settling into a pose. And there’s certainly no time for cool downs. There are no blankets to place under your knees or your lower back. Seriously? Do I look like I’m still 25? This old body can’t take it no more bro. And the other students in there frighten me. Most of them look so strong they could pick me up and have a bite of me for breakfast….

I often dream of revolutionizing the way yoga is taught in a gym setting. Sometimes I sit in a gym yoga class and daydream about how I would teach the same class. How I would cue less and do less to deliver more. How I would only use half the amount of words, how I would wrap the class up in a cocoon of yoga warmth and squishyness and music and love. How I would make people feel seen and heard and valued - and how I would teach them that it’s not about what you look like - it’s only about what you feel like on the inside that really counts…

Heavy Things, Spinny Things, Walking Pulling Things and Other Thingamajiggy Things - Apparently these are things that make you strong and mean like a lean fighting machine. I will learn about them when I meet with a personal trainer next week. Also, apparently, he will teach me what they do and how they work because right now I don’t even know how to turn one on. I am talking about the machines, not the trainers.

I also hope he knows that I am The Founding Member and El Presidenté of the Chai and Cake Club and if he decides to kill me on Day One, then I will not be returning. If I survive then perhaps you can ask me what all those machines do.

Spin Cycle - I have so many words for this class, but I will try and spare you ALL the gory details. I have been twice in one week. I must be seriously mad. On someone’s suggestion, I bought cycling shorts — but not just those cute little ones you see on Lululemon’s website. I’m talking full-on, diaper grade, fully padded, hideous looking things that make you walk like you have a mattress between your legs. I’m talking sweat so sweaty your eyeballs fog up. I’m talking legs that tremble like baby jellyfish, I’m talking bruised lady bits 🙈. I’m talking cycling up hills so steep and a class so hard I thought I’d died and gone to the deepest nether regions of HELL.

I’m talking a bicycle seat so hard, my arse is breaking in half. Now I know why they call it a bum CRACK…

For Class Two I decided to leave those scary shorts at home and give my regular tights a run for their money. Let’s just say I will be bringing back the padded pants next week.

And still, still I return - What is wrong with me? Why do I keep going back? What have I come to realize? I have come to realize that my body is beginning to age and my hair is rapidly turning gray. My eyesight is not as sharp as it used to be, and my reproductive system and belly have taken on a life of their own. And so like any good geek, I have researched this to death.

The conclusion I have come to is this. If you don’t use it, you’re going to lose it. At the expense of sounding like an insta meme, I have come to believe that movement really is medicine and the it’s the safest one we can take. I have come to realize that in order to lead a healthy life I need to walk and add resistance training to my days and play and laugh and love and eat. I have realized that just because I am super flexible and teach yoga does not mean I don’t need anything else. I have come to realize how essential my core is. And I have realized that strong really is the new sexy.

So the next time you see me shlepping my sorry arse to the gym come and say hi. Have a chat with me, encourage me, wish me luck, cheer me on. I’m probably on my way to Spin and he’s going to break me.

Until we meet again… and hopefully my fingers are not broken or paralyzed after weight training next week. I need a nap. Good evening /night, xx