If you’ve been away from the gym for a long time, you’ll relate to this interesting tale. Author Andrew Smith gets motivated and heads back to the gym after a seven-year absence.
As soon as I walked through the double glass doors, it hit me. That unique smell. A combination of metal and stale perspiration. I was back at the gym again.
There was no one at the front desk, so I walked around. I immediately noticed a few changes since I had been to the gym seven years earlier. Now there was loud, pulsating music. Bright colors, like yellow and purple. And TVs, lot of TVs. They hung suspended from the ceiling, surrounding a small forest of machines and the people using them.
Did I need to be here? At age forty-two, 6’2” and 210 lbs., I was in OK shape. But I knew my arms and back could use strengthening, and I hated breathing hard after climbing steps. What decided me was trying on my summer shorts to find that they seemed to have shrunk – quite a bit. I hadn’t gained weight over the winter, but I definitely gained some inches.
The desk clerk returned. I told her that I’d like to sign up for the free, one-month introductory offer. She gave me a card and short tour of the facility. And that was it. I was free to use any machines, any time I wanted.
No time like the present, I thought. I hopped on the treadmill to warm up. About six others did the same, some running, some walking. I set mine for a fast walk, my normal speed. Then I did some stretching and tried out a few machines. I was a bit rusty and unused to these particular machines. When I felt a pain in my leg, I decided to stop.
The gym offered classes, so I signed up for one: “Designing Your Own Program.” Four people were scheduled to come, but only one woman and myself showed up. She looked about my age, blond hair, determined face. We sat down with a young instructor who began to ask a series of questions.
“So, what do you want to accomplish?” he asked the woman.
“Well, I want to get rid of the flab on my stomach and tone up my saggy arms.” Then they discussed her medical background and I had the weird feeling I shouldn’t be there, as if I was a fly on a doctor’s office wall.
Then it was my turn. “I’d like more upper body strength, to lose an inch or two from my waist, and, um, not have to breathe so hard after I climb steps.”
“Ah, cardio,” he said. He jotted everything down and disappeared for a while. The woman and I drifted around the gym while he wrote out our programs. When finished, he came to get us.
My program had me using seven upper body machines, two abdominal machines, and 20-60 minutes of cardio machines (treadmill, bicycle, stair) per session. The upper body ones were designed to work the chest, back, shoulders, biceps and triceps.
When I added stretching, I found that these workouts lasted anywhere from 90 to 120 minutes, and I felt nicely drained after each one. The TVs and music helped the time go by and to “put the body in motion.” I did notice that the men and women who came with a friend had much more fun. But most people, like me, did the exercises solo with a serious, focused look.
I came back the next night for another class called “Upper Body.” I was the only one this time. The same instructor who designed my program took me around and watched me use the machines. Turned out I’d been doing half of them wrong, plus there were hidden knobs and gears I could adjust to make them fit me better. He suggested the amount of weight for each machine.
At first, the weights seemed ridiculously light. (“Only 40 pounds? Gimme a break!”) But after three sets that included eight repetitions each, 40 pounds felt like 400, and I could feel my poor muscles quivering.
“When should I increase the weight?” I asked.
“When you can get through your three sets without straining. Then add five more pounds, and so on.”
The abdominal machines were simpler, but no easier on my neglected muscles. The Roman Chair involved standing upright and grasping two handles, then repeatedly lifting my knees toward my chest. Twenty-five times. Times three. I wonder how my agonized face looks to my fellow gym-goers as I struggle to do my seventy-fifth rep.
The Ab Bench didn’t look quite so hard, but appearances are deceptive. You lie down on a nice padded bench, put your feet up on bars and your arms on two handles. Then you raise your upper body, doing quick little crunches. Seventy-five of these are slightly easier than the Roman Chair, but different muscles are affected. And I felt them.
After these, it was a nice change to get on a recumbent bike and ‘relax’ for a while. This is where you can read a magazine or watch TV while your legs do all the work. Stair steppers, ski machines and treadmills complete my workout.
So, how does it feel to go back to the gym after a seven-year absence? Good. It’s kind of an obsession, for the moment at least. If three or more days go by without a workout it feels like I’m backsliding, and there’s nothing worse than working hard at something only to have to start again from scratch.
It’s been around six weeks since I started. Have I lost inches? Not yet. Lost weight? No. Feel stronger? Not especially. But I know these things take time.
There is one immediate benefit, though. When I come home all pumped up, I can flex my arm and call to my six-year-old son.
“Hey Ben! Come on over and feel my muscle.”
As soon as I walked through the double glass doors, it hit me. That unique smell. A combination of metal and stale perspiration. I was back at the gym again.
There was no one at the front desk, so I walked around. I immediately noticed a few changes since I had been to the gym seven years earlier. Now there was loud, pulsating music. Bright colors, like yellow and purple. And TVs, lot of TVs. They hung suspended from the ceiling, surrounding a small forest of machines and the people using them.
Did I need to be here? At age forty-two, 6’2” and 210 lbs., I was in OK shape. But I knew my arms and back could use strengthening, and I hated breathing hard after climbing steps. What decided me was trying on my summer shorts to find that they seemed to have shrunk – quite a bit. I hadn’t gained weight over the winter, but I definitely gained some inches.
The desk clerk returned. I told her that I’d like to sign up for the free, one-month introductory offer. She gave me a card and short tour of the facility. And that was it. I was free to use any machines, any time I wanted.
No time like the present, I thought. I hopped on the treadmill to warm up. About six others did the same, some running, some walking. I set mine for a fast walk, my normal speed. Then I did some stretching and tried out a few machines. I was a bit rusty and unused to these particular machines. When I felt a pain in my leg, I decided to stop.
The gym offered classes, so I signed up for one: “Designing Your Own Program.” Four people were scheduled to come, but only one woman and myself showed up. She looked about my age, blond hair, determined face. We sat down with a young instructor who began to ask a series of questions.
“So, what do you want to accomplish?” he asked the woman.
“Well, I want to get rid of the flab on my stomach and tone up my saggy arms.” Then they discussed her medical background and I had the weird feeling I shouldn’t be there, as if I was a fly on a doctor’s office wall.
Then it was my turn. “I’d like more upper body strength, to lose an inch or two from my waist, and, um, not have to breathe so hard after I climb steps.”
“Ah, cardio,” he said. He jotted everything down and disappeared for a while. The woman and I drifted around the gym while he wrote out our programs. When finished, he came to get us.
My program had me using seven upper body machines, two abdominal machines, and 20-60 minutes of cardio machines (treadmill, bicycle, stair) per session. The upper body ones were designed to work the chest, back, shoulders, biceps and triceps.
When I added stretching, I found that these workouts lasted anywhere from 90 to 120 minutes, and I felt nicely drained after each one. The TVs and music helped the time go by and to “put the body in motion.” I did notice that the men and women who came with a friend had much more fun. But most people, like me, did the exercises solo with a serious, focused look.
I came back the next night for another class called “Upper Body.” I was the only one this time. The same instructor who designed my program took me around and watched me use the machines. Turned out I’d been doing half of them wrong, plus there were hidden knobs and gears I could adjust to make them fit me better. He suggested the amount of weight for each machine.
At first, the weights seemed ridiculously light. (“Only 40 pounds? Gimme a break!”) But after three sets that included eight repetitions each, 40 pounds felt like 400, and I could feel my poor muscles quivering.
“When should I increase the weight?” I asked.
“When you can get through your three sets without straining. Then add five more pounds, and so on.”
The abdominal machines were simpler, but no easier on my neglected muscles. The Roman Chair involved standing upright and grasping two handles, then repeatedly lifting my knees toward my chest. Twenty-five times. Times three. I wonder how my agonized face looks to my fellow gym-goers as I struggle to do my seventy-fifth rep.
The Ab Bench didn’t look quite so hard, but appearances are deceptive. You lie down on a nice padded bench, put your feet up on bars and your arms on two handles. Then you raise your upper body, doing quick little crunches. Seventy-five of these are slightly easier than the Roman Chair, but different muscles are affected. And I felt them.
After these, it was a nice change to get on a recumbent bike and ‘relax’ for a while. This is where you can read a magazine or watch TV while your legs do all the work. Stair steppers, ski machines and treadmills complete my workout.
So, how does it feel to go back to the gym after a seven-year absence? Good. It’s kind of an obsession, for the moment at least. If three or more days go by without a workout it feels like I’m backsliding, and there’s nothing worse than working hard at something only to have to start again from scratch.
It’s been around six weeks since I started. Have I lost inches? Not yet. Lost weight? No. Feel stronger? Not especially. But I know these things take time.
There is one immediate benefit, though. When I come home all pumped up, I can flex my arm and call to my six-year-old son.
“Hey Ben! Come on over and feel my muscle.”
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