Yesterday, Boris Johnson announced that gyms will be allowed to re-open on the 25th of July. It was a welcome surprise for many, with some sceptical on how such close-counter and sweat-soaked spaces would be allowed to reopen anytime soon.
And while there were many jokes online about the gym bros getting their personalities back and the relief of getting back to normal by not going to them, there were also a fair share of sincere, heartfelt tweets from those who have genuinely missed the gym…and for good reason.
Unfortunately for me, I am one of those people. I was in the gym the day before they were officially closed and I’ll be there the first day they re-open. I know what you’re thinking, here’s another insecure, annoying fitness fanatic who thinks exercising is a personality trait, but actually it's not that simple.
I’ve always been very privileged when it comes to physical health and in the main, body image (not always, of course, I’m still a woman after all). I’ve never struggled gaining or losing weight and I’ve maintained relatively healthy relationships with food and exercise where it pertains to how I look. Where I have struggled though, is with my mental health.
I, like more than 8million people in the UK, have an anxiety disorder that can either irritate or consume my life depending on my stress levels. It consumed my life when I was 17, and while I won’t go into the gory details of my particular symptoms, I will say that back then it was quite literally life-threatening. Through exercise, particularly weight training, though I’ve been able to manage my stress levels and in turn, dampen my anxiety symptoms to a low hum in the back of my brain.
I’ve felt like I’m one trigger away from an emotional breakdown since March.
You can see where this is going. No gym for the last four months equals no outlet to manage stress, during a global pandemic without any ability to see family or friends no less. Without the gym to manage the everyday stresses of work and life in general, I genuinely fear for my sanity. The thought of going back to the days when my anxiety symptoms almost put me in hospital is terrifying. But without the gym now? With a deadly virus causing a near-global quarantine and two parents who are either elderly or vulnerable, I’ve felt like I’m one trigger away from an emotional breakdown since March.
I’ve been exercising at home, of course. I go out for daily walks when I can and still train different muscle groups most days, but quite frankly, this outlet pales in comparison to working out in the gym. Exercise for me is not just about feeling fitter or healthier, it’s about those few hours a day you can mentally escape from everything going on and focus solely on what’s in front of you. I find solace in walking to the gym thinking of my routine, in the gym environment where there are no distractions, in the all-encompassing feeling of lifting something twice my bodyweight.
With weight training, you can’t afford to drift off, every rep has to be safely controlled, every muscle your working activated, and usually – if you're lifting something heavier than a tin of soup from your kitchen cupboard - it will be hard enough that you couldn’t think about anything else even if you wanted to. I leave the gym and I feel stronger, not just physically – which in itself makes me feel less anxious about being a woman in this world – but mentally because I’ve given my brain a much-needed break from the constant inner monologue that tells me not to trust my own thoughts. At home, I leave the gym by walking from the living room to my bedroom, barely having broken a sweat from lifting my backpack full of tinned chickpeas, just as stressed as I was when I started.
And lockdown, of course, was the exact time I needed more than that. I’ve not left the house for non-essential reasons since it was announced. My anxiety isn’t hypochondria or health-based, but the fear from which its triggered mean if I were to get Covid-19, my anxiety symptoms would be a nightmare. It’s because of this I’ve been extremely cautious, not risking seeing friends or family even when lockdown eased. I also feel the civic responsibility most of us do to protect the poorest and most vulnerable from the mistakes this government have made in managing this virus by staying far away from anyone.
Of course, that puts me in a tricky position right now. I don’t trust that the government is putting the safety of the public first when it comes to easing lockdown – I very much believe the experts who say this is economical – and so naturally, I’m sceptical about the safety of opening gyms at all. And yet, I find myself pre-planning for my first day back in the gym on the 25th, desperate for an hour's peace from my brain.
On the night before the gyms closed, I was in there training legs one last time. There were three people there, cleaning supplies were scattered around and everyone actually used them after every equipment use. That memory is what’s keeping me hopeful for when the gyms re-open. If they’re limited to a certain capacity, with steadfast rules about cleanliness and masks worn where possible, I’ll be first in the queue.
My inner optimist keeps manifesting that image, also reasoning that the gym won’t be most people’s first port of call and hopefully, many will have found a love for home workouts or outdoor exercise that I couldn’t. At least that’s what I keep telling myself, and for once, I’m hoping I can trust my brain.
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