So as I stand in my bedroom preparing to visit the gym, a few things pop in my mind.
Do I really want to go to the gym? Have I eaten enough? What should I wear? And finally, this better not distract from the growing pile of marking harvesting in your laptop case..
After steady wardrobe decisions.. I drive to Fitness First Brighton. Car parking is a nightmare, but today it’s early so I am able to get one right out the front of the door. Disappointing as usually I get to walk past the sportsmen training on the oval.
When you walk in the door it’s instant. Your behavior changes, and your confidence lifts or falls upon your encounters.
Men always are working the weights. It’s embarrassing to enter that area, as you can feel the piercing eyes of the wolves watching your every step. It has an imaginary sign above that reads ‘enter with caution’. Modest gym users and 1kg bandits are not admitted. Only the physically strong females with a targeted program, dare even put a step on the mat. It is intimidating enough already without the row of treadmills facing the other direction.
The gym is the judgement centre. You can’t help falling into a pattern of prejudice each time you enter. People watch you and you watch them. And some spend more time watching themselves in the mirror.
The stereotypical steroid junkie covered in tattoos, holds the 50kg weights. All the while, the young white male stands in his shadows.
For a place of recreation, it is eery. Each patron has an iPod attached their bodies like a intravenous drip. We harness the energy to workout via the beats to the songs.
Entering the bathroom to lock away your goods. Women battle their tights and tie up their laces. The looks on their faces, demonstrate the recap of the days proceedings and the list of things to remember. Showers and hairdryers are provided, for those who wish to change.
Enter judgement. What should I do first? Taking to the treadmill, I tie my laces. Grabbing the 2kg weights, I head off for my power walk. Bearing in mind the boxing training of the following day. As I begin to run, realization that my wardrobe decision is faulty. My shorts are slipping down. I manage to tuck them into my nickers, but they provide no solution. I return to the power walk.
To my left, a middle aged man. Climbing the treadmill and smashing kms right before my eyes. To my right, a young female intent on walking.
The smell of sweat fills the air. The heavy panting of patrons, in rhythm with the runner to my left. Everything appears as normal.
You enter unwillingly and leave energized. And so begins the cycle again next time..