I’ve changed a lot since the last time I went to the gym. I once was an idealistic, bright, energetic go-getter. After 4 years of loss, abandonment, and mistakes I am a lonely, jaded, defeated boy.
I paid $110 for a year-long Planet Fitness membership. I only started using it since October 1. I have nerve damage on the left side of my body from a stroke so I have to use machines instead of freeweights because I cannot coordinate weights in the air when I lift.
With one look at me you see an average male in the prime of his life. Inside I am tired, anxious, and irritable, constantly on the verge of tears.
So as you can imagine going to the gym is a chore.
You see I don’t want to hide in the safety among the endless rows of treadmills and ellipticals (from which in this gym you are in direct view of the weight stations). I want to turbo charge my calorie burning and to do that I must push, pull, stretch and sweat.
Entering the weight station is like entering an arena. On the bus ride to the gym I convince myself that everyone there is there to make themeselves better and they don’t really care about what I do, but I am wrong.
As soon as I enter I see the sprawling wall. Mirrors viciously pasted on the walls so that it is impossible not to see another body in my view. I pick whichever machine looks least used and stare at the ground or the ceiling. I don’t want to stare at anybody and I don’t want anyone staring at me, but it is inevitable.
I breathe slowly and controlled and start my presses. Press my feet firmly to the ground, tighten my core, and slowly lift the bars up; first with 20 lbs and gradually making my way to 30.
But suddenly I look up and see him staring at me. The gym is full of men young and old. This man staring at me is old. He sits at his machine. I meet his eye. I feel my blood pressure rise. What does he see? Does he look upon me with disdain? Does he think to himself that if he were my age he would be doing much more intense workout? Is he bully? Does he see that I have taken the time to calm myself and focus that he must stare me down until I lose control? Is he gay; a possible lover?
It’s all too much for me to deal with and I have long since lost control of my thoughts. I feel my shoulders tense, my head pounds, I think I am going to be sick.
I tell myself I am thinking irrationally; a desperate attempt to get my body to trust me, but it is too late. I’m in full paranoia. Covered in sweat yet frozen. The men surrounding me huff and grunt. They are in control. They command their bodies. They have autonomy. I’m suddenly hald afraid and half enraged.
I leave my machine and run to the other side of the building to work on a different part of my body. I get a few sets in and start to calm down.
Then I look up and another man is looking at me.
And the cycle repeats itself.
