Spandex Gym Club

By on January 11, 2017

While curving out resolutions for 2017, just like all other procrastinating mortals, I penned down quite a number, among which was getting myself in shape this year. I’d like to think I am not an unhealthy or unfit person. In fact, if you looked at my tall lanky frame, you would be excused for thinking I am some sort of olympian. I am also swift and I can carry myself around with a fair amount of ease.

And yes, occasionally I indulge in a bit of basket ball here and there or football every once in a while. However, it would be pushing it to say I am a healthy person. In fact, I am as far from physically fit and/or healthy as terrorists are from heaven.

And so on 1st January 2017 I decided that my first item on the to-do list was getting my healthy self in order through much needed gym activity. A friend recommend me to a gym and offered to pay subscription for my first month as long as I promised to maintain my gym activity thereafter.

I am not one to turn down free offers so I agreed to the challenge with excitement and gusto.

On the day I was set to pay the gym my first visit, I did what many first timers do; I went shopping for gym outfits and even got matching canvass shoes. If pictures on Instagram and Facebook were anything to go with, the gym is one of numerous places where fashion is supreme. I was not about to break the code.

I got to the gym an hour before my scheduled time. I needed a run down on what exactly happens and how I can make the most of my time there so I figured going in early was a step in the right direction.

Just as I was trying to make my way into the gym, two ladies passed by. One wore blue spandex shorts as if she was fresh from a volleyball game and the other had a tight pair or black three quarter leggings – also spandex.

Focus Bernard, Focus!

I opened the door for them, they got in and I slowly followed, visibly fighting the temptation to stare at their behinds jiggle in the tight but elastic shinny clothing.

When I got in, there was all kind of activity going on.

At the far right corner, I could make out two huge men who seemed like they were auditioning for a food supplements ad because they were so well toned to even be anything but male models. The squat rack they were using appeared to beg for mercy. They were not having any of its pleas. Their audition needed to be perfect.

Next to them was another well toned fella who was lifting himself up on the ceiling mounted pull up bar with so much ease, it’s like he had done this since he was a little boy. I counted at least 9 lifts before my eyes swiftly moved to the couple a few meters from Mr. Pull Up Bar. The lady uncomfortably pulled at the cables and pulleys machine while the guy urged her on in a muffled voice. I gathered he must have been her trainer, or the guy she was sleeping with every evening after gym sessions. They were a perfect fit.

Not-so-far from them was a group of 8 spandex donning ladies enjoying a session of aerobics exercise. The two ladies I entered with had now joined this group and were moving rhythmically to a dance version of Lana Del Rey’s Young and Beautiful which seemed rather apt because all 8 ladies seemed rather young and beautiful. The person leading the aerobics session was a guy – also in spandex. His movements were as smooth as a veteran ballet dancer.

This was turning out to be a spandex get-together of sorts.

I went over to one of the beefy guys who was struggling with 50 KG dumbbells. He was sweating profusely and his grunts reminded me of Di Caprio in The Revenant. He was taking a quick break so I approached him, hoping to ask for help on what the procedure was.

He saw me approach, pointed at a desk in the corner and went back to his routine. I turned to see the desk and saw a lady seated behind it, looking prim and proper – with eyes as large as an owl’s.

I headed there and noticed a desk with a smiling lady behind it. On the desk were magazines including Iron Man, Gym, Men’s Health, Men’s Fitness, Fitness, Flex, Shape and Body. Underneath them, almost hidden away, was a receipt book and an old copy of O, The Oprah Magazine.

The lady sees me approach and quickly holds out her well manicured hand,

“You must be Beewol,”

I smile. Already thinking of 49 things I want to tell her. But I contain myself.

“Oh Yes, I am Beewol. This is my first time here …”

She cuts me short.

“We have been expecting you, grab a seat. My name is Sophie, welcome to our gym”

She motions towards a little folded chair behind one of the large fresh white towels. I pull it out, stretch it and sit.

“So, what is the procedure?” I ask. Already scared that I might be sent to join the other beastly guys at the squat racks.

“We have to first know what exactly you are hoping to achieve by joining this gym.” She mentions.

I being to wonder what else any sane man would want from the gym other than to get well toned abs and perhaps walk away with one of the spandex girls. But once again, I keep it together.

“Well, this year I want to get in shape and stop wasting away my life to unhealthy living.” I manage to say, seemingly reading form a script I had been running over the night before.

“Wow, that’s great. Do you have any physically illnesses or medical issues that you think  we should know of before we discuss what routines might be good for you?” She mentions in an all-too-serious tone.

“Not that I know of. I think I am good to go.” I assure her. Ready for whatever would be thrown my way.

She then hands me a piece of paper and a pen.

“Please write down what you hope to achieve and we shall have a trainer with you shortly.”

Now I am confused. I thought everyone who comes to the gym has but one aim; to not die young and unhealthy.

I write down a number of abstract things including soul searching and then hand over the paper to Sophie with the smile.

She goes into a back room and emerges with a lady who is taller and clearly more serious than her. The lady looks at me and motions for me to follow her. We go into another section of the gym, another section with more spandex recruits.

Here, the tall lady manages a smile and even begins conversation.

“So Beewol, my name is Lucy and I will be your trainer.”

The idea of gyming is as new as the idea of female gym trainers so I am visibly amused and clearly smiling.

After about 5 minutes of useless chit chat, Lucy and I get to work.

First, she takes me around the place showing me the different equipment and various routines I would have to go through. By now, I am already sweating because the thought of even spending a minute on any machine makes my muscles ache.

We finally settle on the treadmill. Ah. Finally, something I actually like.

“This is for the older people. Young people like you are into other things.”

Then she hands me dumbbells which are not marked. I hold the dumbbells and begin to lift them up and down, following her instruction. After exactly 18 seconds of attempted lifting, I am sweating like a boxer in the 7th round of a heavy weight boxing bout. I put them down, ask her f’or a rest and she stares back at me with steely eyes, as if to say “Lift. Them. Up. Now!”

I don’t ask too many questions so I lift them up.

After another 10 seconds, I am worn out. I feel like the weight of planet is in these two dumbbells. That, and two other planets – on each side.

She grabs one of the dumbbells and points at a small inscription. It reads “1 KG”

Now I am embarrassed. So I pick them up again and give it a third shot. This time, I almost let out a little soundless fart. This is harder than I thought!

Then she swiftly takes them from me and says, “That is enough for today. We shall continue tomorrow. Good start.” She walks away, swinging her spandex hidden behind.

I quickly head to the reception area, smile at Sophie and quickly rush out. I signal for a boda boda and head straight back home to Kiwatule.

It is safe to say that among the things I decided to do in 2017, visiting the gym was probably the most demanding idea. I am still recovering from the few seconds of lifting dumbbells and as soon as I do, I will be back with a vengeance. If anyone at the gym is reading this, please understand that I am taking a quick break and I will be back next week – when I have psyched myself up once more.

“In a word, I was too cowardly to do what I knew to be right, as I had been too cowardly to avoid doing what I knew to be wrong.” ― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

a.k.a Beewol
The Talkative Rocker
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Beewol – The Talkative Rocker

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Baldie. Ailurophile. Social Media Junkie. Blogger. Pluviophile. Fixer. Sober Drunkard.
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