I’ve always been bad at gym. I don’t know if there are many people reading this that know me from primary or high school, but I am sure they would agree that, as good as I could be in other subjects, I sucked at gym, year after year.
Back in those days I could score A’s in pretty much every subject (or “tens”, as grading in Argentina used to go from zero to ten), from Math to History, but Gym was a series of sad, straight D’s (at best). Why was that? There were many reasons, among which a congenital heart condition that nobody gave a shit about, repeatedly institutionalized bullying by pretty much every gym teacher I had (and many of my schoolmates, too) and my increasing aversion at submitting to physical activities that I considered unbearable.
Also, let’s be honest: being a ten-year-old kid in the 1980s Argentina meant having Maradona as a role model, which in turn meant that if you could not properly play Association Football and become a superstar, you were a fucking loser. And guess what: I still suck at football, and in the eyes of most Argies, I’m a fucking loser.
So be it.
As a result, I’ve always felt clumsy on my feet. I have never been able to really control my physical movements, my posture, or my energy. I have never in my life achieved a state in which I could confidently run three kilometers without feeling like I need a heart transplant at the end. Or in which I could lift significant weight without feeling that I was losing my life and mind in the process.
Of course, there were some isolated moments during which I felt fitter than others, for example while I was working at Swissair between 1995 and 1998. During those days I could confidently lift baggage of up to 70 kg, to place it on a cargo bay above my head. Another such time was a short span between 2012 and 2015 during which I consistently trained, and reached the ideal weight of 82 kg. Other than those moments, I have always been slightly overweight (almost reaching the 100 kg mark) and undertrained.
The thing is, I’m 52 years old now, and lo and behold, I start to experience the effects of age. During the past 3 years I started adding quite a few of them on the list: gout on my left foot; painful gallstones followed by its corresponding gallbladder removal procedure; low blood pressure issues and its consequent fainting events; joint pains in my legs; and an increasing sense of fatigue and low energy. None of which helps when you’re all the time on the verge of depression and anxiety attacks.
All of these things, coupled with some good conversations with Claudia, some close friends, and even colleagues from work, made me take a decision: last February I joined a local gym, which I have consistently attended since between one and three times a week. I also hired a personal trainer, who has been helping me to increase my pulmonary capacity, lose some weight, and increase my stamina.
Needless to say, we’ve also changed our nutritional habits with Claudia, and almost completely cut off alcohol, sugar, and processed foods from our lives. That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy my occasional Saturday evening whisky, or a good Pizza, but in general my intake patterns have really shifted this year.
So, it’s been 6 months so far. Do I enjoy it? I have to be honest: not at all. A gym will never be my natural location. I feel and will always feel alien in such a place. But my personal trainer is a fantastic person, and he’s consistently pushing my limits further away. It’s incredible what you can achieve when you’re not subject to the bullying of underpaid and underfucked gym teachers who have the bad habit of making fun of their least capable student. What I do enjoy, however, is the fact that we get along well with my PT, that he’s patient and knowledgeable, and I’m giving my maximum week after week.
I realized it was not the activity in itself that I found alien, but the kind of social interactions that came with it. It’s funny (and sad) how my brain can color certain activities, situations, locations, depending on the quality of the people surrounding you. (Corollary: bullying is a very, very harmful thing. Don’t do it, and don’t allow anyone to do it, either.)
After six months I start to see the results. I can now run at least two kilometers without needing a heart transplant, I can repeatedly lift up to 70 kg again (the target is 130 kg by next year!), and I am on track to reach my weight target of around 85 kg, together with a BMI of less than 25 in the next few months. My posture has improved, I sleep deeper and better, my digestion feels much better, and I am learning to control my breathing day after day, which means I can recuperate faster after some effort.
Now please, don’t take this text as a recommendation or an encouragement to go (or not to go) to the gym; your decision is yours, and what works for me in this point in time, might not be what you need.