Edward Scissorhands goes Jane Fonda
Becoming a fitness instructor by sitting on a bench
A couple of weeks ago I was sat on a bench at the calisthenics park, pretending to be on my phone while I inconspicuously squinted at a guy doing pull ups with his top off, silently begging for him to leave and stop making me feel inferior. I felt awkward, out of place, bedraggled, and just generally ridiculous.
Originally, I had wanted to go bouldering around the corner, but when I walked in the bouldering hall and saw all the groups of happy, unreasonably flexible bouldering fiends throwing themselves up walls, I muttered “fuck no” under my breath, turned on my heel and walked right back out. I generally don’t mind bouldering alone, but I have my limits. I don’t want anyone to actually see me do it. I get that people do see me bouldering, but when I purposely leave the office early to be able to go when a large part of society is working, there are much fewer people there to witness my feeble attempts to manage beginner routes whilst swearing and laughing manically.
Anyway, now that bouldering was off, I figured I might as well check out the new calisthenics park as I wasn’t expected at my friend’s house for at least another 30 minutes. It had been raining and it was a pretty cold evening, so I had decided to wear my Dr. Martens. But since I wasn’t changing into my climbing shoes anymore, I was stuck wearing heavy, clunky boots with dark, skin-tight leggings, and a black raincoat. Add my unkempt helmet hair from biking there in a hurry and I looked like Edward Scissorhands.
To make matters much, much worse for my sense of self and confidence, I had recently decided to train as a fitness instructor and had spent a considerable amount of money on a course of questionable quality that I was trying to complete alongside work. And yet, here I was — phone in hand as a decoy, not daring to get on the calisthenics equipment because someone was already using it. It wasn’t like the park was full of gym bros flexing their bodybuilder physiques — no, no, there was one (!) guy doing pull-ups after an evening run, minding his own business. I can say with full confidence that the likelihood he would have given a rat’s arse about my boots, my helmet hair, or my failure to be able to do a single pull-up was vanishingly small.
Be that as it may, I am still optimistic about my new plan! Which is baffling, really, seeing as the only sporting activity I’ve partaken in over the past few weeks has been a quick sprint from the bus stop to an ATM on holiday — when we realised that, even in Dublin, the local Irish buses only accept cash — plus the odd bike ride to and from work. I’ve been on holiday, I’ve been travelling for work, and as much as I would like to be the kind of person who gets home after a long train ride and says “I just have to go for a quick run”, I am not. I will happily walk the dog, but it’s not like I will not calm down or feel incomplete unless I’ve worked out.
That being said, doing sports has helped me immensely. It’s helped me concentrate, it’s helped regulate my sleep amongst other things, but it’s also done wonders for my self-confidence. Of course, I cannot prove full causality — there’s no doubt always a combination of factors that contribute to such a psychological development - but it’s definitely something I actively registered. In particular, anything to do with weights and getting stronger definitely made something shift. After growing up in a world in which, as a woman, being thin and attractive seemed to be the pinnacle of success and even healthy fats were scary fats, it’s such a breath of fresh air to lift weights for the benefit of my health, and my health alone — rather than for the benefit of anyone looking at me.
Despite my social anxiety at the calisthenics park and the bouldering hall, I am surprisingly unbothered about going to fitness classes at the gym. Every now and then I might throw on some gym clothes in a rush and regret my choice once I’m there, in which case I might have a self-conscious moment, or see myself in the huge wall-length mirror with my hair up and be surprised to see Dumbo in gym kit looking back at me, but I usually forget these insecurities once the class starts. I am not a competitive type, so it doesn’t bother me if the instructor is ripped as hell whilst Edward Scissorhands gets his reps in.
Without wanting to sound trite — I think getting into sports, especially if it wasn’t part of your every day growing up is, or at least can be, as much of an emotional undertaking as it is physical. I’m sure there are lots of others who, like me, only ever viewed running as a means to losing weight, and never even considered a weight-based sport, for example. Maybe you have social anxiety and the thought of going to the gym or for a swim makes you feel nauseous. Maybe you struggle with body dysphoria and see your body more as an object to be perfected than a tool that will keep you independent in old age. There are so many reasons why getting into sports is more than just “building a routine” or “finding a sport that you’ll enjoy” so that you’ll stick to it.
If I successfully stick to the fitness instructor plan, I probably won’t be the person you come to if you want to bulk up or lose weight for purely aesthetic reasons. But I might be the person you approach if you want to work towards getting your body moving more in general, but need someone understanding to give you a hand while you get into the hang of it.
But that’s not any time soon, this is a long haul project. Besides, I’m going on another mini holiday tomorrow. There shall be no pull-ups in London.
In the meantime, if any of this resonated with you, please feel free to get in touch and let me know. It’s one thing to decide I would like to try and contribute positively in this area, it’s another ball game to tell people about that plan before it’s all done and dusted — especially because, as mentioned before, I’m not your typical ripped, sport-addicted trainer type. So, if my hunch about people feeling alienated from sports ring true to you, don’t be a stranger!