Gym Tales

Week One. Day One.

Sunday. Knowing that Monday morning is our first outing to the Gym I pack my bag in advance. A bit like a school bag run where we had to find out which lessons were on the next days timetable and pack textbooks & notebooks accordingly. My big Crumpler bag is ideal. I knew someday I would be able to justify why I spent all that money on a newspaper-delivery-looking-water-proof-bag. This is the day.

Bag has office clothes (what was the point of ironing them if they are going to be rolled into a ball?), office shoes, hairbrush, soap, shampoo, conditioner, assorted nice smelling things (deodorant and perfume) and cosmetics (which I otherwise never use) to complete the ensemble. After all there will be other women in the locker room while I get ready – I have a reputation to keep up (not so much keep up as build from scratch – this is only day 1). Bag also has handbag within it which has wallet, card holder, lip balm, Polo mints, travelcard, book and ipod for journey. Bag weighs 34 kilos.

Monday. Alarm set for 5.30am. I am up as soon as the alarm goes off. My sneakers/ trainers (depending on where you are from!) with new socks tucked in are at the end of the bed, near my already packed bag. Gym clothes – non-slogan T-shirt and tracks – are resting on the bag. Out of bed like an eager child on Christmas morning (still blissfully unaware that Santa was in fact mom and dad) followed by hurried-get-ready experience and at 5.55 we were out the door and legging it to the Gym.

Gym is full of scary, scary thin people. The kind motivated enough to get up and be at the Gym in their colour coordinated gear before the crack of dawn. V and I are motivated but not even vaguely colour coordinated – forget with each other, even just as ourselves. Ignoring the running masses we decide to diligently exercise for 45 whole minutes.

While I walk on the treadmill at the pace of a snail doing the marathon I marvel at how for someone who has often been described as a ‘slow walker’ this is an achievement. For someone who will not move an inch unless absolutely required this is inspired. As for getting up at 5.30 am to be in the gym at 6am, this is the equivalent to walking on the moon.

I go to office full of beans confident that I have already lost some weight and look better in my clothes. Excuse my delusions. I need them instead of coffee.

Week Two

Went to the Gym for four days out of five in Week One. Skipped it on the weekend because there is still so much house setting up to be done that I think that is exercise enough.

Found the class for fat people. It’s called – say it together people – “aqua aerobics”. It’s at 6.50am on a Tuesday morning. Being ‘aqua’ it is naturally in the pool. The class is great for my self-esteem. I am the thinnest person there. I swim 30 laps before the 40 minute class starts. All the roly-poly’s come to this class mainly because the water provides good resistance making the workout make your body work hard while also cushioning it from injury. It’s lovely, a coordinated whale workout if you like. The teacher is fit and energetic and has us all feeling like we’ve had a workout rather than just aimlessly splashed around in the pool. I’ve met some nice people and in just the second week of us taking this class together we are chatting after class. "Did you enjoy that? Where do you work? How many days do you come in? How long have you been a member? Do you always use this locker?" A bit like a secret club this is Gym-talk, if you like.

Besides losing weight my only aim is to get them to switch off that Brittany Spears music.

Week Three

Can you believe I am still getting up at 5.30am to use the Gym before work? I hit the snooze button almost as soon as the annoying alarm goes off. 8 minutes later I am awake and getting ready. I think the sheer cost of the Gym membership is keeping me going.

6am gym sessions are not to be laughed at. It’s that time of year when winter is closing in on us and the sun lights up the sky a few moments later each day. It’s not cold enough to need even a light jacket yet but the skies are darker when I wake up. The thought of not going is a fleeting one I have managed to overcome so far. Like the preceding two weeks, in Week Three, I managed to go to the Gym for four out of five days.

I feel lighter although the scales tell me I have not lost anything. They lie methinks.

Week Four

I’m used to the alarm now and wake up just a few moments before it's peeling begins. I like waiting in the dark for that first ring to herald this new day.

I’m still pre-packing my bag (although I have done away with handbag inside a bag and various other unnecessary items – who needs blush-on when freshly scrubbed pores show red cheeks to their best?) and being well-organised.

I feel a little bit saintly.

I wonder how long this madness will last?