Of course, I didn’t march in and join the gym on the spot. But, for the same reason, something told me that it might be a form of healing. To one part of my brain, the idea of strength training felt challenging: to take up a form of exercise that was not explicitly or implicitly promising to make me thinner felt almost transgressive. But, on this day, I didn’t laugh, because pure muscles suddenly felt like something I might want.Ī post shared by Pure Muscles Gym lucky that I’ve never truly struggled with my body image, but I can’t pretend I’ve been immune to living in a society dominated by diet culture, where the aim is only, and always, to get smaller. I’d noticed it before, because the name – Pure Muscles – always made me laugh. Then, one day, I was on a government- mandated walk near my house and glanced across the road, where I saw the gym. I liked it, but after a while I noticed what I really liked was the small but perceptible changes in my body composition: my thighs felt a bit firmer, my biceps a bit more evident. It got me out of the house and, since you spend quite a lot of each class lying down, didn’t really feel like exercise. Working from home meant that, without a two-hour commute, I had more time on my hands and, when we weren’t in full lockdown at least, I started going to the local Reformer Pilates studio a few times a week. Like most things at the moment, you can blame my transformation on the pandemic. So *record scratch*, how did I end up with not only a four-times-a-week workout habit, but a personal trainer, a slight obsession with Nike Metcons, and an Instagram algorithm serving me ads for protein powder and creatine? It wasn’t a perfect solution – I was still picked last for everything – but at least I escaped the extra humiliation of trying and failing. I decided my best option was to not try at any of them. Failure at an individual sport was at least only embarrassing failure at team games attracted the derision and the ire of my more talented teammates, who’d somehow ended up on the losing side by grudgingly allowing me to guard the goal. It was ‘Games’ it was about winning, and I was frozen-in-the-headlights, terrified of failing. I’m old enough that, when I was at school, PE wasn’t about building health or exploring the joy of movement. What came first? My lack of ability, or my lack of confidence? I still can’t answer that. I did six weeks of couch to 5k once, completed it, and, victorious, returned to the couch, which is where I stayed. I don’t climb, can barely swim and always wear the wrong shoes on hikes. I’ve never been a member of any kind of sports team, not even one whose main focus is the post-match drinks. I did Ashtanga yoga for a couple of years – not coincidentally the period when Gwyneth Paltrow made it seem the path both to enlightenment and Hollywood hotness – until I quit, bendy but bored. I let my last gym membership lapse sometime in the Noughties. The extent to which I am not (or – spoiler alert! – was not) an exercise person can hardly be overstated.
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