It can be intimidating to step foot into a gym where incredibly passionate (and incredibly buff) people go to maintain their huge muscles and tiny waists. But what I suspect, is that there is a sizeable population of gym users, joggers, and walkers, that don’t have a single goal in mind. People who aren’t particularly interested in transforming themselves into an Olympic athletes or marathon sprinters.
I’ve had so many conversations with friends, or well-meaning gym bunnies, who love to roll off platitudes like ‘well, everyone has to start somewhere.’ Which is certainly true. But what if you’re not trying to look good with your top off? What if you’re just in need of getting out the house?
I’d had a long break from exercise, years really, by the time of the first lockdown. In March 2020, in Wales, we were permitted a daily walk, as long as we set off on foot from our front door. And do you know what I did? Absolutely nothing.
For the first few months, I rarely left the sofa. The only exceptions were food, and trips to the bathroom. I was too afraid some days to even collect parcels. Thank God for the delivery drivers everywhere kindly leaving us our romance novels and bulk-bought spaghetti on the step. I’d even put my mask on for answering the door. I was terrified.
My partner, also terrified, but certainly less than I was, carried on heading out every day to work. Don’t worry, I’m perfectly aware of how ridiculous it is that I, a person who was paid to stay at home by the government, seemed to be having a rougher go of it than my social care worker boyfriend. But, some of us are built from weaker stuff.
It wasn’t until, probably August of that year, when things began to relax a little, and the prospect of a trip home to visit my parents, who I’d missed miserably and thought about every other second of the day, all year, that I realised: Oh God, it’s time to get out.
So, off around the block I went. Headphones in, podcast playing. While I’ve never been one to do anything by halves, that was really all I could manage. I’d spent so much time sitting around and doing nothing, that I was exhausted, physically and emotionally by a 5 minute walk to the end of my road, round the street behind us, and back round the other side. EXHAUSTED.
Still, for pure desperation and need for some inner sanity, I persisted and two months later, I was off for all-day, 10, 12, sometimes even 15 mile walks. From my front door to Taff’s Well, Pontypridd, even Newport city centre. How I managed it, I’m not sure. But what I realised quite quickly was how insignificant all of my worries became when I kept moving. For those few hours I was out the house, sense prevailed. The light was pouring in through the branches. The tunnel, well, the end was lit.
Why had no one ever told me that a bit of exercise could do this? That something as simple as a walk, could have the power to offer so much mental space, so much clarity, and floods of comfort? Okay, they had. My Mum certainly had, even Rob had suggested I’d feel much better after a walk and he’s more content with crisps and TV than anyone I’ve ever met. What I mean to say is: why had I never believed them?
For all of my moaning at the beginning, I do think the conversation around exercise is changing. Slowly are things becoming more inclusive, and as a by-product, more welcoming. Seeing someone who looks like you in a hoody and trainers goes some way to quietening your inner critic when you’re just getting started. But, here is where I need to admit that I was wrong. I’d always assumed that people who said they exercised for the mental health benefits were either one of two things: liars or addicts. And as someone who both didn’t believe them, and has been an exercise addict (oh, yes!), I couldn’t believe they were possibly saying something I needed to hear.
When I was 17, I lost a lot of weight (5 stone to be exact) in a relatively short period of time. I went mad for the treadmill, and long jogs in the sunshine. And I think, looking back, paid twofold for how extreme I was. Not just for the toll it can take on your social life, but for how it shaped such an unhealthy attitude towards food and exercise for the years that followed. So, as I went went away to university, drank lots, smoked lots, and ate even more, I began to stack it on.
By the time I’d finished my postgraduate studies, working as a part-time bar and retail supervisor, I looked and felt like an entirely different person. Not all for the worse, I’d met someone I loved, and we made a home together. I was also lucky enough to have an education that I enjoyed getting. But, I was also incredibly anxious, and trying anything to take my worries down from what felt like a 10 to a slightly more manageable 7.
Nearly 3 years ago when the world ground to a stop, I couldn’t have imagined how wonderful I was capable of feeling. 4 hour walks aren’t really an option now that I have an office job. I might work from home but there is only so much you can get away with. It’s nearly a year since I started going to the gym too, and I’ve been making smoothies and porridge like my life depends on it. And I’m truly not convinced I’ve lost a pound. And I don’t mind one bit.
What regular, moderate exercise has given me is both the balance I needed, and resilience, to feel equipped for handling stress. Now, I’m calm enough to enjoy every single day, and awake enough to take it all in. My starting point was a 5 minute walk around the block, and even if I still look exactly the same (though my haircut is certainly better than it was during COVID), I have to admit that those smug little bastards in Lycra might have been right: we all start somewhere.
Tim Wynne 