The Gym Diaries: Stronger, Sorer & Slightly Unhinged

After many days of not going to the gym, I finally went back. Not because I missed it. Not because I suddenly discovered discipline. And certainly not because I woke up thinking, “Today feels like a good day to find out exactly how many muscles in my abdomen have abandoned me.“

I went back because I am a woman heading towards menopause, and there comes a point when you have to look your declining muscle mass, unpredictable hormones and increasingly opinionated body directly in the eye and say, “Oh, we’re doing this? Fine. Bring it!”

So I went to the gym and my body regretted it. Immediately!

The first sign that this was going to be a terrible idea came when I walked into the gym and realized I was already tired. I hadn’t done anything. I was simply there. Apparently, my body had been hoping I would turn around and go home. I didn’t. 

This was Mistake #1

And then came The Plank aka Mistake #2

The plank is perhaps the greatest practical joke ever played on humanity. Because someone looked at lying face-down on the floor and thought, “This needs to be harder.” So now you balance your entire body on your forearms and toes and hold yourself there.

For what? Thirty seconds?

Which, in ordinary life, is nothing.

Thirty seconds of a conversation?

Nothing.

Thirty seconds waiting for the microwave?

Nothing.

Thirty seconds scrolling through Instagram?

Gone before you’ve even realised you’ve wasted your life.

But thirty seconds in a plank?

An entire lifetime flashing before one’s eyes.

At ten seconds, I was fine.

At fifteen, I was reconsidering my commitment to fitness.

At twenty, my abdomen was sending distress signals.

At twenty-five, I was having an existential crisis.

At thirty, I collapsed onto the mat à la a Victorian woman having a case of the vapors and fainting; sadly without strong manly arms to catch her.

And the trainer said:

“Good! Let’s do another one.”

I briefly considered murder. 

Not going through with it was Mistake #3.

The next morning is when the body began its formal retaliation.

I woke up and attempted to sit up and my abdominal muscles responded with an “Absolutely not.” because now sitting up had become an advanced core exercise.

Rolling over? A challenge.

Getting out of bed? Requires a plan with with multiple exit strategies built in but strangely all of them ending in ‘staying in bed’

And then came the discovery of all the other places that hurt.

My stomach. My ribs. My back. That space around my sides that I am fairly certain does not have an official anatomical name.

And this is the peculiar cruelty of getting older…you can injure yourself doing something that, objectively, involves lying on a mat and moving six inches.

But I’m going back.

Because here’s the thing about being a middle-aged woman approaching menopause: tell us we can’t do something and we will immediately add it to our schedule.

You want to tell me my metabolism is slowing down? Interesting…I’ll be over here doing planks. Crying, but still planking.

Tell me muscle mass becomes more important as women age? Excellent! More crunches!!

Tell me I’m getting older? I know…I’ve met my knees.

But I am not surrendering. Because strength at this stage isn’t about trying to become twenty-five again…it’s about being strong enough to carry your own bags, get up from the floor without needing the jaws of life, climb stairs, maintain balance, protect your bones, keep your independence and, most importantly, not hearing too many clicks and snaps as you stand and attempt to get upright. 

So yes, my muscles are crying. I am crying and my abs have filed for separation.

But I am going back. I may move more slower. I may make noises while getting off the floor that sound like an animal in distress. And I may definitely require several days to recover from a 30-second plank.

But I am going back.

Because if you tell a woman heading towards menopause that she can’t do something, you are not issuing a warning. You are issuing a challenge.

And that is how we find ourselves voluntarily lying face-down on a gym mat with suspect antecedents; trembling, sweating and questioning the meaning of existence; all in the name of “core strength.”

If you ask me, it’s menopause who should be worried.

We’re coming for it…even if we need to lie down first.