Gym on a whim

I've joined a gym - something I honestly thought I'd never do again. I thought I'd been through too many rounds of the enthusiasm-dogged-persistence-disillusionment-eventual-admission-of-defeat-self-loathing cycle ever to be foolish enough to step again into a smelly room full of testosterone and bulging casual wear and bore myself rigid on some unforgiving machine while being forced to listen to insipid dance music sung by people who spend too much time in gyms. But it would seem I was wrong. I heard about a special deal at a local gym (be warned - bad music starts automatically when you click on that link) and went for it with barely a pause.

My thinking is that, while I've got all I need right here at home to build up my stamina for the big ride (ie a bike and a turbo trainer), I'm also going to need to build up some strength too. Specifically I get sore upper arms and shoulders when I cycle a long way and I'm sure I can address that by toning them up a bit. I'd also like to strengthen my core to protect my lower back – and while I'm at it a bit more strength in the haunches wouldn't go amiss for those tough climbs and end of day sprints (not that I'm anticipating many of them, frankly). In a nutshell then, I'm looking to upgrade my entire body, just like I have wanted to many times in the past.

The difference this time is that there's something specific and unavoidable to aim for and I know the ride will be that much more enjoyable if I'm not in agony most of the time. I've already said that one of the reasons I'm doing this is to give myself a strong incentive to get fitter than I ever have before – this is part of that process. So here's hoping eh?

I'll need to watch them at the club though. There's a boyish enthusiasm about the trainer I met today – and who will be running my induction session tomorrow – that could easily turn into discomfort or even injury for me if I'm not careful. He demonstrated a few of the machines with an endearing mixture of affability and machismo. Showing me how to use an arm cycling machine, he turned the resistance up to six and span away with no apparent effort, chatting about how it would be sensible to use this particular machine for 20-30 minutes, alternating between 'easy' settings and much harder ones for little bursts of effort to get the blood pumping a bit. "Fair enough", I thought, taking over on the machine and starting off, as he did, on level six. Within 15 seconds I was breathless and struggling and an ominous pain was growing in my left shoulder. "I, er, might want to turn it down just a notch to start off with", I gasped, trying desperately not to give away just how much pain I was in. "Oh sure" he said, with a slightly puzzled look on his face and turning the dial down to five, which made no discernible difference to the growing agony in my shoulder. As soon as he turned his back I lurched for the dial and twisted it down to three, which made the exercise bearable for about 30 more seconds, at which point I begged "Shall we have a look at that machine over there? I think I've got the hang of this one now."

It's a sobering thought really. I've turned into one of those people in their late forties who no longer go to the gym to maintain something but to regain something and about whom cautionary notes are probably written in the training manuals that my friend today probably hadn't read. We're prone to believing we're capable of more than we really are, us desperate forty-somethings, and if we've listened to the warning signs issued by our failing bodies at all, we've misinterpreted the signals they send as calls to action – to get back in that gym and show these cocky youngsters that there's life in the old dog yet.

Yes, I'll have to watch that.