3 years ago, before COVID, before we knew people could wear kitenge face masks unironically and hand sanitizer was cheaper than a loaf of bread, I visited a popular gym in Kampala with the regularity and predictability of the potholes that punctuate your path home.
I paid an annual membership to paint a thin coat of resolve over my fragile discipline. When the inevitable laziness struck, the thought of losing my money fwa would drive me to the gym. This method works well for me. Try giving your friend 20,000 Shillings every time you don’t do that thing you’re—supposed to be—committed to doing. Your friend will either unlock one of the greatest passive income schemes in history, or you’ll do that thing A LOT more.
When COVID hit, lockdowns followed closely behind like a Ugandan standing behind you in a bank queue. The lockdowns cast a dark cloud of business closure and gyms, not known for their hygiene, were no exception.
For 2 years, I successfully traded the gym’s metals, off-white branded hand towels and feral fumes for a makeshift rectangular patch the size of a Aladdin’s magic carpet on my bedroom floor.
When gyms reopened and lockdowns were relegated to rumors in bars, er, restaurants, financial constraints stopped me from returning to the gym.
I had to make the home workouts work.
I was relatively consistent with my home workouts before I sired a son. My son filled our hearts, and a ton of real estate in our home. 5 workouts a week became 4. Then 3. Then once a week when I checked for bulges in the mirror or got bodyshamed by my wife.
As it got harder to suck in my belly without prompting cardiac arrest, and playful slaps planted on my torso no longer bounced off like a tuning fork, I decided to return to the gym.
My wife had been praising her chiseled trainer at another city gym for months. (maybe years?) Just what every husband wants to hear.
Naturally, I decided to go and meet this trainer who inspired such adulation from my wife. Sorry, I mean I decided to go and workout with Ronnie, the ripped trainer.
Ronnie was as impressive in stature as he was as a trainer. He has the kind of body one can only have if they’re paid to have it.
Why else would a warm blooded man advise another man to eat only 2 deyolked boiled eggs for breakfast and wash them down with a shot of fresh-squeezed lemon juice to shred fat? Money or life must be at stake.
We blitzed through a 40-minute workout. I could barely breathe. My heart was pounding out of my chest and my drenched clothes made me look like a wet lovestruck chicken in a Hallmark movie. The workout was full of superlatives, but the headline was the post-workout stretch:
Ronnie ordered me around like a drill sergeant.
“Get down in the dog position,” he said softly but sternly. Too tired to make out words of acquiescence, I sluggishly obliged, lifting my body parts into position, one at a time.
Ronnie contorted my body into positions that would make Kama Sutra lovers bashful. With each stretch, I let out a suggestive groan you might remember from secretly watching late night movies as a teenager. Ronnie stretched my body and excorcised all my toxic masculinity.
When he grabbed my foot the first time and lowered it slowly towards my forehead, I muttered “no homo” under my breath. Or in my head? I can’t remember. I was tired, okay? The more he went about his job with military professionalism, the more I realized I was being an idiot. A knackered idiot.
In about 5 seconds, I got over myself, loosened up and let Ronnie do his thing. Ronnie guided my body into positions 6-year-old Shem used to do to show off to the village belle. The grunts I let out became more unrestrained.
“Look at me do a 180!” I said in my head, now amused by the vulnerable state I found myself in.
As I type this, I’ve completed a week of consistent exercise in the gym and everything hurts.
5 days of consistent workouts reminded me that motivation isn’t real. Doing is real. Newton’s first law of motion states that unless acted on by an external force, a body at rest tends to stay at rest, and a body in motion tends to stay in motion.
The best way to complete any task is to start. Just start. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just start.
Have a good week and do that thing you said you would do ✌🏾
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