For the first time in my life, I have joined a gym. I never thought I would. I have been idealistically opposed to the idea for so long for so many reasons.
some of these reasons are:
1. I’m not so keen on parting with my cash unless I’m buying shoes, pants, necklaces or handbags.
2. Gyms scare me.
3. It's institutionalised and I'm convinced I partake in enough institutionalised activities.
4. I’m not good with routine. Well I am, but not long term routine. In fact, what I do is get fit and trim, then slowly get bigger only to then get trim again. The only difference that this time, getting trim has been difficult. The doctor tells me that my metabolism is slow and my thyroid is lazy. Yeah, you don’t say.
After last year's holidays and eating a week’s worth of great food, I realised that a lot of what I might have considered healthy eating is, in fact, terrible. As a result, I have cut out most wheat and most unnecessary dairy – like ice-cream. Apparently, I don’t need ice-cream to survive.
So as part of the next phase of my fitness and, I suppose, my life, two weeks ago I put all my anti-gym sentiments aside and I joined one! In saying that, though, some anti-gym sentiment remains as I have yet to dispell the idea that gyms are, in the main, horrendous places. Vacuous, sterile rooms with palpable undertones of judgement and general evil. Even the little tiny gym I have joined has me paranoid. Just this morning, in fact, I was on the treadmill, merrily walking and jogging to some classic ministry of sound tunes (LSH thinks that’s an oxymoron) when in my peripheral vision I spot two girls on the elliptical trainers behind me and one of them starts laughing.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My paranoid, high school shackles are raised. Is she laughing at me? Is my running style so bad that I make people laugh? Sure, I don’t wear make-up to the gym, but surely my face, well what she can see of it at least, isn’t that funny? I love the idea of working out in solitude and I like going to the gym on my own. But when there are two or more girls together, I feel small and vulnerable. I’m not wearing my face armour and I am not wearing my heels, nor a great pair of pants to protect me from being judged. In fact I am looking at my worst, wearing some crappy pants, an ill fitting tee-shirt and a hair bandana my folks picked in Bali that looks like it was made by a pot-smoking hippy in Nimbin. Suddenly I realise why Lorna Jane does so well. Her brand of gym gear stops women from feeling so hideous in front of other, fitter women. Wearing Lorna Jane says to the potential judgement maker: “caste your judgement elsewhere, I am wearing great, expensive, pants.”
I stop running and start speed walking only to realise that I am absolutely on my own. Stopping the treadmill, I worry about my next move, which is to go upstairs into the weights area. Suddenly, I don’t want to. I see these girls on the elliptical trainer and I want to leave. I can just imagine them whispering behind their hands about untidy hair. At that moment, I’d rather come back some other day when there are other, older, more quiet, mind your own business types in the gym. Thankfully, some part of my brain kicks in and tells me to stop being ridiculous and grow a pair. I grab hold of that thought tightly and walk upstairs, where one guy is stretching and he politely asks how I’m going. I grab my weights and start moving my arms. He doesn’t look at me, or laugh at my little weights. He just goes about his own exercise regime. I let out a giant, yet silent, sigh of relief and berate myself for being such a fool.
Returning downstairs, I see the young woman who was laughing is watching “Who’s line is it anyway?” A show that makes me laugh out loud too. Turns out, I was paranoid for no good reason. Well, if there was good reason, it wouldn't be paranoia, it'd be reality, but that's beside the point! I'd even go so far as to say that it is likely that no-one even noticed my existence. It’s just such unfamiliar territory and I’m not comfortable there yet. Probably none of the people are, since the gym is still quite new. It is possible we’re all just pretending to be cool and get on with our workouts, while hoping no-one notices our back sweat or any body odour. It’ll be a hard balance. I don’t want to make friends with anyone at the gym, even though I know that would make me feel more comfortable. Yet I don’t want to feel like an awkward teenager either. Hopefully, the next two weeks see me establish some level of comfort and a good routine and I'll be institutionalised in no time. Mwa hah ha ha.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
And so the rains are here.
So Brisbane, the town I’ve lived in – on and off since I was a teenager, looks like it’s about to be pummelled by flood waters.
We’re not used to this type of thing here in Brisbane. We’re a capital city for goodness sake. Maryborough, Rockhampton, Townsville, those northern and extreme parts of the country are the ones that are most affected by nature’s extremes. Brisbane, well, we pull through, unaffected, right?
Apparently, not this time. Apparently, this is like some enormous payback for getting through the other times.
Yesterday, Toowoomba, a town 2.5 hours west of Brisbane, was flooded and people died in a sudden and horrific torrent of water rushing, gushing and ripping through the city streets. It’s a town that sits on a mountain range, so it’s flabbergasting how this can even happen. My dad, due to go to Toowoomba for work today, said he didn’t believe the news. Said “newsreaders always like to say the closest township so people know what, or where, they were talking about”. This is true to an extent. LSH’s family in Canada saw the floods in Rockhampton and were told through their newscasters the images were from Brisbane. Only slightly funny because Rockhampton is a 1.5 hour flight away. Dad probably still doesn’t believe that it was Toowoomba.
The water from Toowoomba’s inland tsunami is set to rush through Ipswich to the Brisbane River where it will break the banks and gush into our suburbs. Tears welled in my eyes as I saw my floating boardwalk at Southbank, where I often take a Sunday stroll, is under water. And this is just the beginning. Can’t even begin to fathom how I would feel if I saw my home like that.
I always think, in times of these natural disasters, “I hope they have insurance”. Funny thing is we’re with NRMA for our home and contents and they don’t insure for flood damage caused by overflowing rivers in Queensland. Of course, five years ago when I took out the policy, we were in a drought and I no doubt scoffed at these limitations. Frankly Brisbane hasn’t flooded since 1974 – so NRMA, in my mind are just pricks, if every 30 years is ‘prone’ in their books – I don’t know what frequent would mean. So, regardless, this morning, I started ringing around multiple insurers and my suburb is on an embargo list – along with 70 or so others. Do Not Insure, they say, likely flooding. Hmmm. Comforting words.
Maps of the city have been drawn up to show residents which houses are likely to be affected across which areas. We’re in a state of emergency, declares our Premier, a woman who looks too much like a girl I went to school with, it’s awkward and scary. The water is all starting to roll down the mountain. And the non-stop rain isn’t helping.
Our city centre was evacuated. How on earth does that happen? Our financial district, our government services our central retail all shut down. I work out of town, thankfully, but my drive home at 12.30 today was manic, thousands of people left their offices and hurtled home so as not to be stranded. The roads were busier than at peak times. Some workers were already stranded. Some people weren’t able to get home, already. I thank the universe that LSH and I have been able to arrive home and pop our dog upstairs.
People’s attitudes are interesting. My workplace said, “Look after your families and friends, look after your homes and your pets. Be safe. We advise that you don’t visit any areas that are flooded. Work will be here when you get back.” LSH’s company and a husband of a friend of mine’s company both said, “nope, no need to leave.” LSH was nearly flooded in and unable to leave his office.
My personal attitude has been to stress and worry. I have no flood insurance. I might have a flooded home tomorrow. Not sure how high the waters are running, might be my downstairs, might be my upstairs. Might be none, might be all. I have now consumed three very quick glasses of bubbles and am starting to relax. 11pm tonight is going to be the worst, and we’re expecting some king tides tomorrow and Thursday. Some sunshine might raise our spirits a little. It’s harrowing, surreal and also completely ridiculous. I was planning a dinner out tomorrow, dinners for the weekend. Gym excursions and walks as well as mini-breaks to Sydney and now…we’re wet. All just wet. I’ve left the PC downstairs, here’s hoping that wasn’t a really silly decision.
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