It's a Gym Life.

I want to tell you why I left the gym.

I'm not proud of it, but I ran away. I ran away and then paid a shocking amount of money in monthly instalments for a really long time because I was too scared to go back. 

There are lots of scary things about gyms. I'll start at the beginning.

I don't like the turnstiles that you have to swipe your armband through to enter, which then flash up a hideous photo of you for all to see, as you shuffle to the changing room.

I don't like the changing room. All those people in various states of undress chatting about workouts and swimming, and for those of us of a superstitious nature it’s always a tense moment when you can’t get your 'lucky locker'. The one miles away from anyone, which also has to have an even number. Bonkers? Me? Pfft!

Next came the actual horror of being in a gym. The machines, the thumping beat of dance music, the Sky news. The only time I even managed longer than five minutes on a stationary bike was when a particularly good 'Murder She Wrote' episode was on and I just had to find out who the killer was!  

Then came the personal trainer. 

It happened innocently enough. There I was dying of boredom on the cross-trainer, while watching 60 minute makeover with a glazed over expression, when, suddenly next to me, appeared this lithe, spunky, happy person telling me 'it didn't have to be this way', 'we could have fun, and get results super quick'. 

I was seduced by the promise of firm thighs and toned abs. I pictured myself jogging happily in the sunshine, laughing as we did squat thrusts, and sailing through a body pump class without so much as breaking a sweat. 

However, I didn't know she was psychotic. The reality was a food diary where I had to justify each and every calorie, workouts which made me physically sick, and the time when after one particularly hard session, I fell down the stairs because my legs gave out. 

A normal person would have told her to back off, that not being able to walk properly for five days after a session wasn't normal and goddamn it, I NEEDED THAT APPLE YOU BITCH. 

But…instead I became gleefully insolent. I would put 'herbal tea and summer fruits' in the food diary, but I would actually be eating a full English breakfast whilst mentally giving her the finger. It went on and on, almonds were replaced by doughnuts, salads with fried chicken, cottage cheese and celery (bleauhhhh) with gorgonzola and biscuits. 

Eventually I realised how ridiculous all this was and did the only sensible thing. I sent her a text to say I couldn't make the next session, and that I would rebook for the following day, and then fled the area like a criminal.