Love, Life and Lifting. The Confession Of A Gym Addict: Taking a break

In life everyone will go through heartache, the dreaded thoughts of feeling empty inside wondering if I can move on from it, the thoughts of what is my life without them and what will I be like once the emotion settles down. Having moved to university and forced to say goodbye to the gym that kick-started my love for fitness, I’d found myself on reading week of this year wondering what will happen on the week I go home to relax.

My mind had been made up and I was not prepared to endure an hour-long bus journey to the university gym on my week off, this week would be different as I usually visit the gym on the long breaks as well as before and after lectures in my working week. I knew I didn’t have enough money to spend on a week pass at my former gym and I needed somewhere else cheaper to turn to.

The gym on the front street had always been somewhere I never took an interest in. Like a vape shop or a pub, it markets as a cheap gym for guys to go when they need to work out, no contract at all. Unlike every relationship I’ve ever been in.

As the sun rose on the Monday the eager little child in me came dancing down the front street and waltzing through the doors handing over my fee for the week my eyes went as wide as the Wear at Roker. Seeing all the machines and the different racks plates and dumbbells, I thought I’d died and gone to Gold’s Gym.

If my muscles could cry with tears of joy, I would have flooded the front street at how happy I was, in the first upper body session I got to play with the best weightlifting toys. I did a shoulder press with a custom loaded barbell and even had the pleasure of using an old chin-up station. It came to the leg day and this is when the honeymoon ended.

Not because I was training legs, but in my trans-state on the upper body day I was the only one in the room and on leg day I was not alone, the room became filled with massive inflatable looking like men who’d give the Michelin man and Baymax a run for their money.

I’m five foot 11 and toned, I’ve never been big and bulky and even I felt a little small in comparison but that never affects me. As I squatted deep with a dumbbell all I could hear was as an almighty grunt. Louder than Serena Williams playing Wii Sports tennis in front of a mirror. It made the atmosphere feel awkward and tense.

As the week went by the grunting got louder, and the gym decided to up the volume of the music, like fighting a wildfire with a canister of lynx Africa and some petrol. I kept looking around and seeing the poor form of technique the Baymax boys had and it was unsettling. “Drop the weight down and You’ll do it right” I wanted to say but reading the room I knew I’d end off as flat as IKEA Billy bookcase before assembly.

My heart began to miss the University gym, Where everyone was friendly, and they had a good selection of weightlifting equipment. No Baymax and Michelin Men with lousy form. Thank goodness normality will resume next week as I couldn’t take another week in that gym. In life I’ll always have two special relationships. My partner and the gym and the ones I’ve got now are the ones I want to keep.

I’m so forgetful, what was I remembering about?

As a 20 something, I’m forever fighting a battle to manage the important things. Making sure that my deadlines are hit, keeping the mind sane and healthy and most importantly keeping the important things like my wallet and my travel ticket safe. Have I managed all three of those things? I’d say two of those things are being managed correctly and can you guess what I haven’t been keeping safe? I’ll give you a hint. I’m in better shape than the Northern Trains, and My mind is as balanced as a greengrocer’s scale.

If you guessed keeping the wallet safe as the one I’m not managing correctly then you’ve won the round and its now time to play the bonus game. In the past two months as my life at the university has blossomed so has my inability to keep certain items of importance safe.

It started about four weeks ago on a cold morning in Chester-Le-Street, having sat down on the 78 I began to read my newspaper. Without caring about my bus ticket and focusing my mind on the antics of the great Brexit debate, the little blue blighter fell out my pocket.  It wasn’t until my realisation at the gym later that day and a Facebook message from a kind Samaritan. The Samaritan came out of his way to personally give me the ticket back.

The Journey of the blue ticket would continue late into the next Wednesday, as I walked home from a late night in my second home of Sunderland. As I walked up the bank home with my phone and ticket in my left hand and my right hand tucked into my pocket. I got through the door and placed both objects down and this would be the last time I’d ever see the ticket.

As I had managed to get a new travel ticket. My friends and I decided to go to the Metrocentre for a trip to a tattoo parlour and a subway tea.  Later that evening I’m sat down on the bus home. Having secured the travel ticket in my wallet, I went to place my wallet in my pocket as normal. “Everything is going great tonight,” I said.

As I got off the bus and into the house, I begin to perform the British Haka. Looking for my wallet while pulling all sorts of funny faces, running around the house and tapping each pocket. 15 minutes in and I receive a text message from the bus company. My Wallet had been handed into lost property.

It was at this moment I knew my forgetfulness had reached a level to which I couldn’t forget about. I need to screw my head back on. How did I manage at school? I remember being super strict on leaving certain items in a place where I can remember. My wallet lived in the kitchen with my keys and I always kept my bus passes with my phone. I Got into the habit of every night of taking my everyday items and putting them safely. Perhaps tomorrow morning my wallet and keys will be waiting for me in my kitchen key bowl? If I remember to put them in of course.