Gym Jams

I darkened the doors of my gym last night as it felt less risky than running outside. Lack of risk was in this case defined by proximity to toilet facilities, rather than likelihood of muggings.

The receptionist at Fitness First greeted me with suspicion. I think she was confused as to why I had come in two weeks in a row. Or did she greet everyone in this way? A strange feeling of unreality persisted throughout my visit. In the changing room a woman stood touching her toes, backed right up against a large mirror, naked but for two blue plastic bags on her feet. On the cross-trainer next to mine, a woman was pushing out the miles, head down, with her chin touching her chest for 25 minutes. I never saw her face. While stretching, the woman behind me stopped lifting weights periodically to do a handstand against a pillar.

As I was leaving, waiting to swap my locker key for my membership card and get the hell out, the wary receptionist handed me a ticket for a spin class instead.  I was wearing my coat and scarf. “Don’t make me go back in there”, I said.