First Time Back At The Gym - 16 Ridiculous Thoughts of a Non Worker-Outer

I bit the bullet last week and bought a pass for my local gym.  It's been *a while* since I've done any formal exercise (save from that one time I tried to do a youtube video in my living room and the vibrations I created almost knocked everything off my mantlepiece) so I decided to use my morning off while L was in nursery to walk the 50 steps to the gym.  The gym and I have the same postcode. You may not know this about me, but when I was a student at University in Canada, I worked at a gym for a year.  Even typing that out makes me want to howl at the absurdity.  At first, I worked the front desk, making sure members swiped in, taking calls and (wait for it) selling tanning packages.  Oh Lord, how we grow and evolve.  I had targets to hit, lotions to push, tanning beds to spray down - you couldn't make it up (except you could, and I did).  Gradually, I was encouraged to move into membership sales and was actually pretty good at it - giving people advice on fitness plans to sign up to, selling personal training and making cold calls.  It was a bit of a random job for me, but I met my best friend there so it will never be a wasted year.  That, and all the free cancer-causing tanning bed sessions you could shake a stick at!

Throwback picture of me with blonde hair and no fringe coming up..........NOW!mel gym buddies

Fast forward 10 years and it's been almost that long since I've darkened the door of a proper gym.  I feel like 'going to the gym' has become much more of a thing now than it was back then - it has it's own etiquette and culture and I'm just completely foreign to it all. After cautiously scanning my postcode gym's facebook page, looking up their class schedule and resolving that I should just bleeding well do it, my nerves start to play me up.  In that vein of insecurity, and for those of you who may have had first-day-at-the-gym nerves before too - I've compiled a play by play of my first time back at the gym:

-  What the hell am I going to wear?  There is definitely a dress code at these places that I do not know the threshold of.  I can't very well rock up in my cotton leggings.  And my only pair of trainers are definitely for fashion and not for exercise.  Maybe I can hoke out those work out leggings I bought on a whim 2 years ago and never wore.

-  CRAP. I'm pretty sure aforementioned work-out leggings are for a specific kind of worker-outer.  There is a zip pocket in the waistband on the behind that I didn't notice until I got them home.  They must be for runners or cyclists or something.   I'm gonna be a dead give-away of a newbie.

-  I'm not going.  I'm not going. I'mnotgoingI'mnotgoingI'mnotgoing.


-  (walking to the gym)  Maybe I could just go for a walk instead.  Walking is good, they tell me.  Actually, walking without purpose is the worst.

-  Ok, I'm here.  I have no idea where the entrance is, but I am opening this door with confidence.

-  Oh good, a really young, fit guy at the counter.  Please do not notice my cyclist leggings and send me to a spin class.

-  £14 for 14 days.  That's totally doable.  If it's hell then it was just one expensive class.  If it's good then in 3 classes time I'm making money! Dave will be well pleased. I then make some sort of awkward mention to young fit guy about having a bad back.  I decide firmly to never mention that I worked at a gym.

-  Just me here in the studio, sitting on a yoga mat I found at the back of the room.  Me.  Alone.  Did I hear him right?  Am I in the right flipping place?  Imagine I end up sitting here for 20 minutes and the class is going on elsewhere.  There's only one way out and I'll have to do the walk of no exercise shame.  I can just see the headline post on their secret facebook page for cool gym members only reading: "New girl at the gym books in for a class and then sits in the wrong room for 20 mins by herself.  And she's wearing cycling leggings. Har Har Har."

-  Nevermind, the instructor walks in and it's... young, fit guy from the counter.  Heaven help us.  He assembles his Madonna mic on the stage.  Lights are dim enough that I can probably get away with the cycling leggings.

-  It is 5 minutes past the time the class was supposed to start and THANK THE GOOD LORD - another person is here.  If I was going to have to do yoga positions with just young fit guy in the room I might actually die a death.

-  Other person has brought their own mat.  That's commitment.  Must see if TK Maxx has any mats.

-  Several others arrive in.  Note to self: do not arrive mega early, that is not how they roll here. Mega early = awkward chat.

-  Class starts - it's actually enjoyable.  Young fit instructor is good at his job - he probably smelled the fear in the back corner and has not publicly corrected any of my moves.  I, however, have forgotten a hair bobble.  Catastrophic.  Am also constantly pulling my t-shirt down and my leggings up.

-  Class ends - I am the boss of life.  COME. AT. ME.  Endorphins everywhere.

-  Walk home, open front door, collapse on sofa.  Resent having to have a shower and function for the rest of the day.

Sound about right?