I'm going to be the strongest woman in Edinburgh, or even Scotland
I’m building up my wee muscles
It’s happened, I have been ‘gymfluenced’.
In common with other midlife women, my social media algorithm has acted like an angry sergeant major and converted me to the benefits of strength training.
You will help prevent osteoporosis, sarcopenia (that’s muscle age-related muscle loss) and other ills related to the hormone drought in your faltering body, it bellows.
Lift, lift, lift! Now, drop and give me ten, weakling!
It’s also been selling me the supplement creatine, which is proven - apparently - to help with muscle gain and aiding recovery after workouts. I’ve obediently been adding a teaspoonful of this bionic white powder to my tea in the morning. It’s cheap and cheerful, so I will persist.
Except for the pal who thought I was talking about creosote, every middle-aged woman I’ve told has said they’ve been on it for ages, so I’m not the only one. Nobody has confirmed that they’ve noticed an obvious difference.
It has certainly not transformed me into Linda Hamilton in The Terminator, yet. However we are only three days in. Here’s hoping that I’ll be totally ripped by next weekend.
There are many reasons why I’ve fallen for the hype.
My mum, aged 90, can only walk a few metres, and has been that way for a few years. She gave up on exercise - walking and curling were her things - sometime in her Sixties, after retiring. That has been another incentive. If I’m going to inherit her longevity, I want to be able to move and not be stuck in a chair. I’d rather be doing aqua-aerobics and visiting Cafe Portrait with my silver-haired besties. I’ve tried to encourage her to do a few easy movements, but she just scoffs. The tough-as-old-boots silent generation do not believe in exercise.
Anyway, I have found my way back into the weights section. The gym as a whole is not new for me. My current beloved Edinburgh Leisure venue, Leith Victoria, is a regular haunt.
Except, my favourite things are usually the studio fitness classes - yoga, Pilates, Hatton boxing, Bodypump, Shapes, Bodycombat, the whole programme. I haven’t given those sessions up. However, about 15 years ago or more, I stopped using the weights area.
I was put off, partially because a group of teenage boys laughed at me when I was doing one of my physio exercises - the clam - in the Royal Commonwealth Pool gym. I do all my seafood-based exercises in the privacy of my own home now. The prawn is my favourite. You just lie on the floor in a fetal position and it gives you mussels.
Despite this, now I think I’m hooked. There’s a realisation that I’m not getting any younger, but I can get stronger.
I zone out the teenage boys - they’re still in every gym, messing about and doing nothing - put my headphones on, and do my sets and reps. I don’t have a proper programme yet, as I feel I’m in the mix-and-match learning phase, but my faves are all the arms and shoulder exercises.
It’s supposed to be less random than this. However, when it comes to the machines, sometimes it’s just a case of using what’s free. The shoulder press machine can have a queue as long as the one at Sephora at the St James Quarter.
I don’t do enough squats and lunges, so I’m becoming slightly withered in the leg region, but I’ll get round to building those skinny jambons later. They are under leggings, so they’re easy to disregard. The same goes for my chest muscles. I think because of my terrible t-rex al-desko posture, my pecs have become specks. They’re on the long list.
Interestingly, at one of the Ladies Lifting classes at my gym, a staff member told me that men tend to lift more than they can manage, and women go for much less.
I witness that every day, in the gym. There are blokes who are huffing, quivering, growling and gurning through their reps, and women flapping tiny sparrow-sized weights around when they could easily be doing double or triple that.
Not that I’m staring. There’s an unspoken rule that you don’t look at other people at the gym. You stare into the middle distance, with a glazed look, like you’re thinking of doughnuts. Sometimes I am thinking of doughnuts.
However, you’re supposed to wait a couple of minutes between sets, and, in that quiet pause, there’s such good people-watching potential, I can’t help but neb.
There are so many young folk who spend the entire time on their phones, and do almost nada. There is also a heck of a lot of peacocking. I feel that, for Generation Z, the gym is the new nightclub. Hormones are doing box jumps. If they were protein bars, they’d eat themselves.
During the school holidays, there were also loads of kids in my gym, and I couldn’t decide if it was weird that they weren’t outside playing on their bikes, or good that they’re getting into fitness early. Maybe a bit of both.
It’s not only full of young people, though.
I have been heartened by the age range of gym-goers. There are many who are in their seventies and eighties and beyond.
My favourite is a stylish octogenarian, who I see shuffling to the gym with his stick, but when he gets there, he’s surprisingly strong.
And he wears velvet slippers, which is a gym fashion moment.
He has inspired me to stick this out.
None of us are getting younger, but stronger is a definite possibility.
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