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A hilarious look at the struggles and triumphs of a woman who finally turned to gymming after the weight put on in a lifetime led her to further health issues.
So last year in December, I met with an accident that tore practically every single ligament of my right knee. It took me three months to be able to walk with that leg, that too with a limp. The accident, along with being diagnosed with high thyroid levels, finally compelled me to face what I had been avoiding since I turned 16; that I needed to hit the gym.
With a truckload of apprehension, and the attitude of a complete ‘damsel in distress’, I searched for the most basic gyms around my home. The kind of gyms where, when I walk in, I will be welcomed by the sight of equally demotivated, round shaped, middle aged, fellow human beings.
But purely to my misfortune, I have friends who’d rather to enrol me in a popular high end gym frequented by those seriously invested in their fitness that had a Personal Trainer; than set me up on a blind date with the Prince of a European nation.
Now that they had taken that liberty, I was trapped in this existence of crippling fear. The greatest fear was of facing all those shapely women in active wear and those muscular, buff men in vests, with erect nipples that could poke an eye out. While I walk in with my wobbly stomach and my triple chin.
And if you have never seen the inside of a popular gym, then believe me, my apprehensions did not fall far from the tree.
Day after day, I went to the gym, wearing my old tracks and loose t-shirts, my only anchor being my Trainer. I stuck to him like a lost little child. I don’t think I would have dared to have any conversation with that glam tribe of men and women who would fearlessly check out their waist, chests and their asses in every single mirror their eyes set on. And then make one of those floor trainers take well lit pictures of them bench pressing 300 pounds, so they could Instagram it.
I wouldn’t dare to take a picture of my sweaty, wobbly self, even if I got paid for it.
Then one day, a month after regularly attending gym, not because I enjoyed doing burpees like a wheezing panda, but because I had paid my month’s income on the gym and personal training; I decided to refurbish my wardrobe, because I realised that when I sat, my tummy had finally stopped overtaking my boobs.
So, I went to Nike and Adidas to buy that fancy ass ‘active wear’, everyone in my gym so loved to wear. And much to my regret, all I saw were ripped leggings and transparent t-shirts with messages like, ‘Stronger than your fears’, ‘Wake up, work out’, ‘Killin’ it’ and the worst one ‘Train like a beast’.
I couldn’t possibly wear those to the gym; I start crying whenever my trainer makes me do abs. I couldn’t be a motivation to anyone. Heck, I wasn’t even a motivation to myself.
So, I chose the plainest blacks and the simplest leggings and choked on my own vomit when I saw the bill.
Gymming is an expensive affair, yo!
But then the day after my un-budgeted shopping, I went to the gym dressed in a tight fitting sports tee and leggings that were weirdly transparent around my thighs and then around my calves. You know the ones I am talking about, last year almost every single 20 something girl wore it outside the gym.
And that day my motivation came from the angry looks I received from those skinny millennials, men or women, who bothered to check me out while they were doing some serious pull ups and grunting like a lion in heat. I must be doing something right, right?
And the next day, motivation hit me again, when my trainer clapped for me because I managed to plank beyond my regular twenty seconds. I still think he was being sarcastic.
And the day after, it hit me because I could climb a flight of stair without wheezing like a 120 years old woman with asthma.
And continued to stay on, when after months of training like a confused panda (technically a beast, isn’t it?) my neck was finally visible for the world to see.
It has been three and a half months now, and I know deep in my heart that working out is not just something I have learned to like; it has become a way of my life. I intend to train like a beast, be it a panda or a tigress, even when I hit my seventies.
Because a bad workout, is still better than no workout at all. – A quote from my gym. Who says I can’t be a motivation? Oh wait, that was me.
So, if you have apprehensions about hitting the gym, same as I did, let me be your roadmap.
The gym will never change, it will always sport shapely women and muscular men, but you will change.
Because when you hit the gym long enough, nothing would intimidate you anymore. Your aim won’t be to look like those men or women; it will be to make your outside match your inside.
Image source: pexels
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