Opinion
I signed up for a one-way ticket to hell and (somehow) came out transformed
James Colley
Comedian, author and TV writer from Western SydneyI’ve taken to lifting heavy weights in the very early morning. Anyone who knows me might take that first sentence as a sign that I have been kidnapped. I am not built for mornings, and frankly, I went through a significant portion of my life unaware that the world existed before 11am.
Also, I do not care for group fitness. In fact, I find the term a combination of two of my least favourite things. So, what drew me here? Why would I find myself sitting in the car at 5:25am, psyching myself up to enter the gym by blasting songs from a Spotify generated playlist simply called “Angry Mix”?
Group fitness: the term is a combination of two of my least favourite things.Credit: iStock
There are a few answers to the question. The first is that the ‘me’ that signs up for things at night is a lot more virtuous and confident about my abilities than the ‘me’ that has to cash those cheques the next day. Morning Me hates Night Me with a passion.
The second reason, and this is a simple one, is that I wasn’t really listening when I heard the time of the workout and it wasn’t until the follow-up text that I realised I’d signed up for a one-way ticket to hell.
Then there’s the third reason, the one that matters. It’s that the realities of family life meant my usual (only a little depressing) routine of solo late-night gym visits for hours on end weren’t happening, and when they were happening they were sub-par, and even then they felt like they were coming at the expense of time I’d rather spend with my child, or recovering from all the energy it takes to have a child. There is a little gap of time in the very, very early morning where I was allowed to prioritise myself for 50 minutes and still be back in time to cook breakfast and get everyone ready for the day to come. That’s plenty of motivation.
The overwhelming feeling entering the first session was one of fear – not of the activity itself, but of what kind of people I’d find on the other side of the door. I know that as you read this column you can practically feel my biceps bulging but the truth of the matter is, and this is a frightening confession, I’m not actually a jock. Some might call me a nerd. Those that do may live to regret it, but it will be more a reflection of their own actions and how they treat others than any revenge on my part.
The first session, I found myself completely exhausted, sitting at the side of the gym, trying my hardest not to throw up in front of everyone on my first day. I was then informed that this was just the warm-up and the actual exercise would start soon. I wish I had just invented this scenario for the joke, I really do.
Then I returned, again and again and again. It never got easier to get out of bed in the morning, but it did slowly become more normal.
I was expecting a room of 15 to 20 Mark Wahlbergs, ready to bench press me until I admitted that Catholicism was cool as heck.
What surprised me wasn’t so much the slow reclamation of fitness (that’s the point after all); it’s the people I found inside in those very early hours. If I’m honest, I was expecting a room of fanatics. Any kind of group fitness class already has a whiff of the cult about it. Add to that the ungodly hour and I was basically expecting a room of 15 to 20 Mark Wahlbergs, ready to bench press me until I admitted that Catholicism was cool as heck.
Instead, what I found were people like me. People who had families and who were struggling to prioritise themselves. People who found motivation hard, who had never been particularly inclined to lifting heavy weights, but who were willing to work hard and help others to do the same. It was more community than cult. A bond built by suffering together at an absurd hour. We are new in town. I am new to this particular world. Yet, we have lucked into a very lovely group of people, instructing you, guiding you, and pretending they didn’t see me pick up the very, very small weights that are only really there to keep the sign-up forms on the desk in case of a light breeze.
What you want to see when you sign up for a gym is transformation. Now, I cannot say I have been miraculously turned into a morning person. I do my best to smile as I walk in, but I do not mean it. I am still, sadly, not a jock. But I do feel like I am a member of something.
More than that, I feel like I have found a way to care about myself without having to care less about my family. It’s the slow realisation that exercise isn’t something that takes me away from my family, it’s something I do for them. To be a healthy and active father is part of my responsibilities to them.
These are all the things I tell myself now, as I drag my feet along the ground, shuffling from my nice warm car, across the carpark, to the gym, hoping that a garbage truck might take a wrong turn and knock me down so I have a good excuse to get out of actually having to exercise. No luck this time. Ah well, guess I’ll be back tomorrow.
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