It's a widely accepted fact that gym classes are terrifying to everyone but Davina McCall.
There’s that new-girl-at-school feeling for starters, likely to arise upon encountering the immaculately dressed group of women curled up outside your pilates class like sphinxes guarding the gates of some ancient Greek city. Then, think of the prices, which make damn well sure that by the time you get the body you imagined wearing your new bardot crop top with, you’ll be too skint to buy any new clothes for the rest of the year.
Somehow, though, I’ve managed to shake off such misgivings and both attend and enjoy (read: not inwardly scream throughout) several classes. I’ve even found certain sessions (BodyPump, Zumba, aerobics) more enjoyable than other forms of exercise: they’re sociable, structured and being surrounded by other people means you can’t wimp out for a rest and a biscuit every thirty seconds. So here’s my advice on conquering the fear to become the lithe gym creature I absolutely assure you I am.
Worry one: I'll have no friends
What if my star jump has something distasteful about it? Or if everyone in the group has ears specifically attuned to the weird phlegmy noise I make when I pant? As with all new hobbies, starting a class bears that tiresome tang of adolescent awkwardness.
And fretting about interacting with your fellow attendees aside, it’s a sorry truth that reception staff at gyms are essentially just school bullies grown up. This is something I feel comfortable attesting to, seeing as last time I tried to go for a swim at my local gym the woman on the desk encouraged me to walk almost naked and very much unaware of my fate into a waterslide party for under 14s. See? Tyrants, the lot of them.
Anyhow, the easiest way to get over the jitters is of course by dragging a friend along with you. This isn’t that hard to accomplish, the excellent thing about the new-girl-at-school feeling being that almost no one is immune to it (Kate Moss, of course, is the exception to this rule) and therefore you should find someone with whom you can fall into a clingy symbiosis relatively quickly. Failing that, for every glacially cool goddess encased in Sweaty Betty there’s a red-faced girl with a plait and a hopeful smile. (FYI: all hope lies with the latter.)
Worry two: I hate watching myself in the mirror
While some would say that it's important to view the flailing, wet, hyperventilating mass that is your reflection as a mark of the incredible things our bodies can achieve, I'd say: lose the contact lenses. Seriously. Visually deprived? This is your lucky day. Secure yourself a blissful 45 minutes utterly unaware of what your fringe looks like after thirty squat repetitions by simply leaving your contact lenses or glasses at home. (Drawbacks include stamping on neighbours's feet/not having the faintest clue about the routine you're meant to be following.)
If such snags prove too much or you’re cursed with perfect eyesight, choose a class with such complex moves that the slightest deviation of your gaze from the instructor is as ruinous to the session as calling an Uber to escort you directly from the studio floor. If you can’t look, you won’t.
Worry three: I won't be able to do any of it and will collapse, possibly needing medical assistance
'You aren't going to be the best in the class, you may possibly be the worst, but you've got to remember that THAT IS OK', says regular class goer, Emma, 24, from Oxford. And she's right. If you haven't tried a particular workout before, it's unlikely you're going to be swinging through each and every move with simian grace, stunning the room into an awed hush.
Still, at the risk of sounding like your Year 7 pastoral tutor, it will have been the first time for everyone else in the studio at some point and, in my experience, they’ll be accordingly charitable towards your predicament. There will usually be tailored advice on offer to any newbies too, which although embarrassing (an early BodyPump session of mine began with the instructor bellowing ‘Is this your first time?’ across the room), is ultimately helpful and reassuring.
Worry four: They're too expensive to go to once and then never again
You can tackle this problem in two different ways. One option is to sign up for a gym membership where the classes come included. Although immediately pricey, this guilts you into attendance by making it extremely financially unsound to quit after just one try. But if a quick glance at the price sheet plunges you into despair, ask whether you can pay for classes as you go.
Also, plenty of places offer a free class or a month of cheap classes to get you hooked. Sweaty Betty runs complimentary classes across the country, which you can book online. And for Londoners, Lululemon holds free classes on Sundays in its Covent Garden shop; just make sure you arrive on the early side as it’s ‘first come, first mat’, as we say regularly in sports circles.
While it can be hard to make time for exercise, I've found that it’s much easier to stick to a timetabled event than a vaguely scheduled jog around the park – even if the class is unpromisingly titled ‘S&M’ (Stretch and Massage, available at Gymbox).
Worry five: I don't have the right clothes
Remember that people are far too preoccupied with their own inner thigh chafage/ill-fitting sports bra to care that you're wearing a t shirt that quite possibly has scrambled egg on it. Still, in no way am I at pains to hold you back sartorially, so if you want to buy some new kit try places like H&M and Sports Direct where it’s sold for a not-as-horrible-as-other-places amount of money.
And as a parting note I’ll leave you with the most comforting comment on gym classes I’ve heard so far. My friend Hélène tells me that her greatest concern about doing them is getting a wedgie and everyone else being able to see it through those skimpy gym leggings. Luckily, she’s found a nifty solution: 'I do a swishy-flick thing with my sweat towel to distract them and then get it out'. Resourceful, huh?
You can thank her when you bump into her, now that you’re fully equipped to embrace the gymnasium. She's the one doing the weird thing with the white cloth.
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This article originally appeared on The Debrief.