I think by now we’ve all established that I’m a horrible middle class Londonite millennial who will pay over the odds for everything, despite not having the income for anything and has a palpitation when I can’t get a ripe avocado in Waitrose for my breakfast.
It should therefore come as absolutely no surprise that I have belonged to some truly wanky gyms in my time. For a (very) brief time I decided that the local council gym was fine. I paid up £30 per month and went grand total of once. I then realised that I needed to join FRAME. Frame is my spirit animal in gym form. You could not find a person in that place that didn’t have ombre hair and a full outfit made up of the jazzy stuff Nike does. I actually attended that gym and *almost* got fit. I also looked like Eddie from Ab Fab whilt doing so. Sadly I got gentrified out of Dalston. At this point my gym habit was REAL and I actually considered moving to Canary Wharf, just to be close to the Reebok gym, as I’d done a dance class to learn how to dance like Beyonce there. Hint- I can’t dance like Beyonce.
I am now a dedicated follower- occasionally- of REFORMER PILATES. The most wanky of all wanky gym routines. I bloody love it. Mainly because -mind trick number one- you do exercise whilst lying on your back. Yes, you have to do it on a piece of equipment that can only be described as looking like the rack, but the fact that anyone from outside of the M25 looks at you like you’ve finally succumbed to the London scene means it’s the option for me. (I also love the fact that it’s a Pilates studio. Mind trick number two.)
Why am I boring you with the history of my gym going? Well, one of the list of how to meet a man is to go to the gym. What do my lovely gym options have in common? Well, lets say there is a poor man to lady ratio going on. My favoured pilates studio has fairy lights and plays Justin Bieber as the tunes de rigour. Theres a cross fit gym next door and they play Pantera and scream and we all tut at the modern day mans need to justify their gender in such a way. We are just confused by the ladies that go.
HOWEVER, I am not one to be beaten. I was visiting my mum and so I decided to see what the local gym had to offer in terms of potential husband. Let me paint a picture of the local leisure centre. It’s pretty easy for me if you were a child of the 90’s, because the picture needs to only be recalled. I ask you to cast your mind back to the wonder that was The Brittas Empire. Yes, that’s right. I went back to the 90’s to find a boyfriend.
I walked into the cardio room having parted with £5.25- Yes £5.25! and was immediately struck by one simple fact. I was surrounded my men. I was the only lady— I was onto something!!! On the rowing machine, On the arm cycle, ON THE CROSS TRAINER! There was just one problem. Not only was I the only lady, I was the only person under the age of 70. Admittedly, going to the gym at 10 am on a Monday morning probably is silly timing to try and find someone who isn’t on the dole or retired, but I didn’t really think about this. It was as much as I could do to drag my sorry self there to sweat away my money away on the tread mill to Bailando By Enrique Iglesias. If song has for some reason slipped out of your mind, or like me, you never knew what it was called because the only time you’ve ever heard it was on an all inclusive holiday to Croatia whilst mixing ‘green’ cocktails and having everyone stare at ‘the Brits’, I implore you to look it up. It’s a banger.
Anyway, Dating list trial number 1= 4/10. There is clearly a possibility here, but I need to go at the right time, and think of some better chat than “do you remember when Enrique Iglesias had that mole? What happened to that?!