The first thing I ditched in the pandemic? Working out
And, it worked out, until now
I finally got back to the gym.
I can tell you — and myself — that it was because of COVID-19 that I was staying away, but it’s really because nobody can seize an opportunity not to work out better than I can. Workout pants are in the laundry? That’s a sign. Can’t find a parking spot at the gym? That’s a sign. Airborne disease combined with sweating, panting people? Definitely a sign.
I ran out of signs. My workout pants are in the laundry because I haven’t worn anything else since early 2021. I can easily walk to the gym. And it has huge doors that open in good weather, and we can even work out outside.
When I finally returned, Mike Castellano broke into a big grin. We’ve been through this drill before, the one where I quit and we both pretend I’ll be back any day now. Instead, each time I finally return, my body acts like it’s allergic to itself.
I’ve known Mike for five years, but I’ve detected a shift in our sessions.
“We’re going to work on balance today,” he says as he plunks a board-and-ball platform thing in front of me.
“I do not like this,” I reply. Because I do not. I have no sense of balance, rhythm or direction. None.
“I’ll time you, it might help to look up and focus …(I fall off the platform) ... OK, never mind, keep looking down.”
“You think I’m going to fall down the stairs and break a hip, don’t you?”
“No, but it’s good to pay attention to balance as you …” I look at him, daring him to say it. He does not say it.
“I’m only a few years older than you,” I tell him. He has the physique of a gymnast who could bounce back into competition tomorrow. I have the physique of someone who has been wearing stretchy pants for two years.
“Now, I’m going to have you sit on the exercise ball,” he tells me.
“I’d rather do weight things. I fall off the ball.” I sit on the ball and nearly fall off. He hands me two weights because, obviously, the best way to make me forget about balancing is to have me doing presses with hand weights at the same time like I’m some kind of circus clown. I start to slither sideways and he pushes me back on. He’s as determined to make me work out as I am to not work out. Almost.
Next, he demonstrates the squats he wants me to do. He dunks down
three times fast like he has a pogo stick up his bum. I ask him how his kid is, hoping to distract him. It doesn’t work, and I start doing squats like I’m wearing a large, heavy knapsack. Years ago, he tried to get me to skip rope, though I told him I can’t. He said everyone can. I showed him. He took away the rope. We’ve not spoken of it again.
He has me stand on one leg, then the other. I wobble around and look like an albatross, as he silently hands me a pole to balance with. I clutch it and pretend I don’t need it, though it’s obvious to anyone who glances over that I need some form of scaffolding to literally stand in one place.
Halfway through, I ditch the pole, smug in my ability to stand still. I immediately start spinning my arms around like a windmill, something I somehow think is less ridiculous.
Toward the end of our session, I realize he hasn’t told me any stories about some of his older clients, one of my favourite topics of conversation because I can feel like I’m not the most challenging part of his day.
Wait.