Once in Sydney I joined a yoga studio for $350 a year and went once. In New York I spent close to $600 and went to maybe… four classes. In Dubai I looked at the gym a lot, on my way back home from spending £50 a time on an all-you-can-eat-brunch, and in London I engaged in a three-month battle to cancel my Fitness First membership, having been to one class, resulting in sweat of the wrong kind and a lot of tears.
I fucking HATE gyms.
Now I am the type of person with a gym membership who uses her gym membership. That’s something I never thought I’d say. Not without it being a lie, anyway. I am also the type of person who looks forward to the gym.
This surprises me every day. Every day when I leap out of bed for my body pump class and then cycle straight down the road for hot yoga. It surprises me every time I say no to one more drink, because if I have one more drink I might not make it to step.
WHAT IS HAPPENING?
I have a OneFit membership, which means I pay €59 a month for unlimited classes. No pressure. I can cancel if someone invites me out for cheese fondu and beer. The thing is though, clicking to book is addictive. And clicking to cancel gets the guilt tripping straight through me, in a way that makes me colder than a bottle of Corona. Suddenly, I’d rather work out than hit the bar – something else I never thought I’d say.
At first, I only did pilates. I like pilates. It’s the only thing that’s ever given me abs. In Bali I went four times a week and felt like I could move mountains. I even got into green juice, and moringa powder, which is a superfood. Once I put so much moringa powder into my juice that on my way to pilates, I vomited all over my scooter. I still went to the class.
Then, here in Amsterdam, I saw a bunch of super toned people walking out of the studio, dripping with sweat and I thought… pilates doesn’t make me look like that!
I don’t like to sweat. Not unless I’m naked with someone really sexy – I mean, come on. But I do like to look just as sexy. So I booked into the body pump class, along with those super toned drippy people.
And I never looked back.
I’ve not been to pilates in weeks.
Now I just jump about and sweat. And you know what? In the space of three weeks, I have visible abs! (That’s something else I never thought I’d say). And now I can lower myself to where the cucumbers are on the bottom shelf of the supermarket, and pick them up, and stroke them, and sniff them and do everything you do with cucumbers (what are you thinking about now, filth-wizards?) all while performing a conscious, twenty second squat. A squat that doesn’t hurt, or make me fall over. And I like it.
I don’t know how long this will last. But let this blog blast into the cybersphere as a victorious firework; a visible spark that marks the start of a brand new me. Because if you can’t be proud of yourself for doing something good for your body and mind, and consequently your entire VIBRATION in this swirling galaxy of stardust, what can you be proud of?
Oh, I’m proud of not vomiting on my bike, I suppose. Which is my Amsterdam scooter equivalent.
Very proud of that.