It stinks in here today. The source of the smell, a middle aged man in a drenched t-shirt, has been following me around the gym. Annoyingly, he seems to need the equipment closest to me. Where’s the Old Spice guy on the horse when you need him? I reposition myself to avoid being in a selfie a lady is taking in the mirror and get a little further from the man. Unfortunately that puts me closer to a different man having the loudest conversation on his phone in the middle of the gym, requiring me to push my noise cancelling earphones deeper into my ears in an attempt to improve the seal and block him out.
I like the gym. I like the endorphin rush, I like feeling good about my body, and I like an excuse to publicly stare at myself in the mirror. I don’t like the smell, I don’t like that other people are there, and I absolutely do not appreciate the cleaners always thinking the best time to clean under that bench is when I’m on it.
The gym has been a part of my life since university. I started going after a silly accident where I fell off a bicycle and dislocated my shoulder. My dad suggested that building some muscle would help with my recovery and I got hooked. It was a social activity only on rare occasions. The gym was mostly personal time, a healthy escape for my body and more interestingly my mind. Who would’ve thought fitness would be the key to unlocking some emotional and mental stability? There were so many jocks in high school who didn’t appear to have either.
When I say gym, what I’m really referring to is weight lifting. For some cardio is the core of their fitness regime, but picking up and - now this is important gym rats - putting down (not dropping) heavy things, is more my sugar-free jam. I enjoyed cross country as a kid, mostly influenced by my dad’s passion for running, but I enjoyed it because we often ran through nature. For a similar reason, I’ve really enjoyed seasons of swimming long distance in the Cayman Islands. Randomly swimming with a turtle or a stingray for a few minutes is pure magic. Swimming laps in a pool? Not so much.
Weight lifting is efficient. In a short amount of time you can burn energy and your body keeps burning that energy long after as it recovers. Efficiency is the name of the game they say, whoever they are. For the last few years, I’ve gone to the gym during my lunch break at work. This is often a quieter time, although if I take lunch a bit later there may be filthy nasty teenagers lurking about. It’s also the least impactful on time with my family. No point in looking good if my wife doesn’t get the time to enjoy it. Returning from a lunch break at the gym revitalizes my brain, and has significantly increased my productivity in the afternoon.
I used to listen to music at the gym, very loud music, which was motivational and helped drown out my thoughts along with the people grunting and dropping things around me. But for the last few years I’ve used the time to listen to podcasts. When I had an entry level accounting job I could listen to podcasts all day at work to get me through the dreary monotony of the numbers slowly sucking the life out of me. But as I’ve moved into more interesting, experienced positions, I’ve needed to engage my whole brain. It’s hard to have an in depth discussion about complex accounting policy whilst also listening to an interview with the founder of AirBNB. So now those podcasts come with me to the gym.
Here, my mind can be distracted from the hard work I’m putting my body through by an interesting conversation, without annoying everybody in the gym because I’m tongue wagging with a friend while sitting on the bench press. Those conversations get my brain thinking and my creative juices flowing. It’s because of an interview I listened to with the CEO of Substack in the gym, that I started writing this column, and rebranded my old creative hang out from Srizzil, which sadly nobody could ever say or spell, to Dad the Accountant.
This ritual of exercising my body has grown and expanded from a recovery tool, to an aesthetic goal, to being an essential part of my mental health. So I’ll tolerate that I have to share the space with other humans, at least until I become a millionaire and can have my own private gym.
The stinky man has left, the air conditioner trying hard to filter his remnants. The lady - workout still not started - is sitting on the bench next to me swiping through her selfies. The loud man is now grunting like a wounded buffalo as he lifts a weight that will definitely hurt his back. I take a swig of ice cold water, turn up the volume on the How I Built This Podcast, and grab the dumbbells. Let’s do this.
P.S. I made a video about the fitness app I use in the gym a few years back that you may find interesting. I still enjoy using it today.
👍🏻👍🏻