Spinning Around

The room is in semi-darkness. Through the roof lights the first grey streaks are slowly turning the night into the dullness of an Irish winter morning. The wooden floor is littered with prone bodies, low moans of pain punctuate the silence.

A scene from one of my books. Nope, this is my new reality. Pre-dawn classes in the local gym. Shockingly its nearly 30 years since I ventured into a gym for any length of time. I loved the Step and Aerobics classes. I loved the free creche and after class coffee. It was more than a little culture shock when I arrived in Ireland and attended a class in a soulless community centre. In the following years I justified my gymless life by assuming my active life, riding and walking kept me fit. Turns out it didn’t. I’m pretty strong, could ride a horse, or walk all day, but I don’t actually bend much anymore and it seems, my painful joints come from stiffness.

I fell into joining the local gym at the suggestion of my daughter. One moment I was looking forward to an afternoon hunched over my laptop and the next I was sitting in the gym signing up for membership. I handed over my debit card with a whimper of disbelief and then found myself running blithely in her wake up the steps to the ‘Spinning Room.’ 

‘Let’s find you a nice ride to do.’ The gym owner clicked some buttons on a remote, a vast screen lit up and we were transported to a sunny road, which wound through somewhere in Switzerland, in the company of a very lively and exuberant lady who assured us we could cycle faster. So, we did.

I was very slightly surprised that my trembling legs carried me safely down the steps thirty minutes later. ‘That was fun,’ daughter said as we emerged from the gym. ‘It was.’ I agreed. And meant it.

I got home, clicked into the gym app and signed up for a bunch of the classes on offer. BoxHit, Pilates, Spinning, Tone and Stretch. I’ve since discovered that not only do I not bend anymore, but that I’m not coordinated either, my legs struggle to do four steps to either side while my arms are doing two movements. I’m shattered by the time the instructor says, ‘right that’s the warm up done, time for the class to begin.’

However, I have also discovered that I’m not the only one. If I risk a glance at anyone else during a class, to every one person who is perfectly toned and coordinated, there are three like me, going left when I should be going right, arms flailing in the wrong order. I am getting better though. Each time I do a class my coordination improves and my creaky old body flexes just a little bit more. I’ve also discovered that there is nothing nicer than cycling around some unpronounceable Swiss villages in the sunshine while the rain and wind are lashing against the windows. I think I’m hooked.