getting motivated

After my disastrous visit to the gym earlier this year (it can be read here), it should come as little surprise to discover that I completely failed to go back to that gym. In fact that was my only visit to the gym this year.




Until last week.



We have moved offices at work and one side effect of this is that we now have a gym joined onto our new building. So I took the plunge and cancelled my very expensive old gym (I worked out that my one single workout in 7 months cost me £140 in monthly fees!).



Somehow I need to reduce that cost per workout, if only there was some way of doing that?



It was with some trepidation that I went to meet Rob last week, for my induction at the new gym. I really don’t like fitness instructors, they are my nemesis. Somehow I knew Rob would be no different. I wasn’t wrong.



“Hi I’m Rob, hey you’re looking in good shape – do you play rugby or football regularly?”



Oh dear – bad start. I’m not being down on myself just realistic when I say that nobody, nobody ever takes one look at me and thinks “He looks like a sportsman”. I just do not look anything like a sportsman (except darts players) and his false start to the meeting was not endearing me to him at all.



As the induction progressed it became clearer and clearer that he genuinely felt that by whooping every few minutes and telling me how great I am, I was actually going to respond positively. He kept telling me that he was here to listen to me and give me the workout that I want, but then not making any effort at all to listen.



I told him I was 39 and he sat down with an amazed bump, a look of utter shock on his face. “My God – no way, you look fantastic for 39, I had you at 35!” Oh dear, I nearly walked out at this line and told him not be so ridiculous. I look knackered for 39, and I know it. I hate going to the gym, the reason I go is because I KNOW THAT I NEED IT. I need to get healthy because I am not, simple.



I got on the cross trainer and set off, as per Rob’s instructions and was immediately told how natural I was at it and was amazing. Rob had literally never instructed anyone ever before who was such a natural on this machine! Really? Was my heart supposed to be pounding quite so much after 40 seconds on the lowest setting? Were my lungs actually supposed to be collapsing before setting any actual resistance onto the machine? I was a natural.



Rob walked away for two minutes and when he came back he just could not believe how far I’d gone while he was away – I truly am amazing. I screamed inside for him to stop, still maintaining some British politeness by keeping quiet and soldiering on, heaving and sweating completely uncoordinated on this devil’s apparatus.



Then I was taken to a cardiovascular area (I have no idea what he actually called it as I was coughing up phlegm and wheezing too loudly after five minutes wind-milling about on the cross trainer). Rob taught me the different stanzas and had me crunching and munching my way through the different sets of “Reps”. I stood and looked blankly as I was told “just do 20 reps on each”, because I wasn’t at all sure what reps were and didn’t want to make a complete arse of myself by jumping up and doing some crummy holiday rep song and dance number in the middle of the gym. In the end I worked it out and got on with it.



“This one you are gonna love! I’m telling you this will be your favourite” I was told as I was forced into a huge contraption and told to squat. Squat? What? I squatted down and waited for Rob to come and help me stand up again. “My fault”, I was told as Rob frantically reset the machine to its ‘pregnant lady’ setting. I started squatting a little more successfully and was again reminded how utterly stunned the whole gym must be to have someone of my calibre among them (I bet they were). I looked at Rob and sternly asked, “Just what is it about our time together so far, that has ever given you even the slightest indication that I would love this?”



Walking, or as is slightly more accurate, hobbling from the cardio area to the treadmills, Rob crossed the line and finally was subjected to some truths.



“Okay so you do 6 cardio’s, doing the abs after every two sets and do two circuits. You are amazing, I’d never usually get people to try two circuits straight off but you can just do it, I know you can!”



Fireworks went off.



“RIGHT, Rob, seriously you need to stop talking bollocks at me now. It isn’t working; surely you must have picked up the signs of that by now. Since the start of this induction you have come out with so many stock lines it’s unbelievable! It’s time to stop. You have not just set me a circuit harder than you would ever put anyone on at all – that is utter rubbish, I’m looking around this gym and really find it hard to believe that I’m the fittest guy here. I don’t need motivating, I don’t like exercise at all, I will never enjoy it but I’m here because I know damn well that I really need to be. Now please, talk to me like I’m a human and let’s get this done!”



Rob faltered for a second before mumbling that he was here to listen to me and that he loved people like me because we are a challenge.



It wasn’t long before he was desperately trying to engage my interest in exercise again, though through the medium of relentless motivation.



On the treadmill I was told that I was a natural walker and asked if I do a lot of walking. I was amazing at walking and managed to walk much faster than Rob had expected. The fact that I nearly threw up twice even though we had never broken out into so much as a jog was not important. My heart rate was in the ‘perfect’ zone when measured, even though it was much higher than the “they are always about 20 out” chart strapped to the machine. He just does not know any other way of being, this is his life.



I was told to wave my arms up to my ears as I walked in order to “get more out of my workout without having to work harder”, and then I was asked if I was feeling good now? I pointed out that I felt like an arse and couldn’t I just work a little harder instead? It was pointed out to me that this is ‘my’ workout and to keep going with the waving because I looked great. I do suspect that this may have been revenge for my earlier outburst.



Even at the end, he still couldn’t stop himself. Rob actually pointed out during the stretches how big my calf muscles are! I’m fairly sure he even gave my fat backside an approving eyebrow wiggle too.



I’m simply the best damn thing to happen to that gym since it opened!



Why then, was I not able to climb the stairs on the way out without having a rest stop? Answer that one Sporty McGuinty!



I went back to the gym today to try my new workout properly. Rob was wrong, I was only able to manage one and two thirds circuits, I’m thinking that maybe I just wasn’t motivated enough?