Enter Gumtree. There always seems to be a bargain there and lo and behold - 12 personal training sessions for £220 with a free trial. Ring James. Accompanying picture shows impressive if not scary six pack but i thought id get in touch, give it a go and if i didn't like him, let alone the personal training i never had to see him again.
3 weeks later and what feels like countless sessions i almost feel like a changed person. And no i ha vent lost any weight, my tummy is still flabby, and my thighs seem to be getting more muscly, but that's by the by. I realised this evening ( and this being a Friday night at the gym instead of a Friday night in the pub) that a different muscle, that one being the brain, has been beefed up in an enlightened way.
The gym is in Brixton. James is a big black Nigerian guy with tattoos on his arms. Most of the guys there are big, strong, black, men of Afro - Caribbean descent. Before signing up with James, I hadn't even been anywhere near the weights room let alone Brixton. In my mind it has always had this reputation of not quite being kosher and when i compare it to the delights of Fulham, Chelsea, Notting Hill and Pimlico which seems to encompass most of my friends as well as "edgy" east London it has never been the destination of choice. And yet this building, next to Nandos and opposite the Brixton Academy ( I think a few people got shot there once!) contains some of the kindest, genuine, motivating people I have met in a long time.
They don't know my name and I don't know theirs but we recognise each other by sight, i am applauded when I do my first press up, and high fived when making a rowing challenge, smiled at when I'm about to cry and cant go on.
The changing rooms are also unlike any other gym have been to before. Girls walking and talking naked with "imperfect" bodies - no one is hiding from the other, everyone is happy in their own skin. And the skin, let me tell you is of every colour possible. In fact, I'm probably the whitest person there, and quite possibly the poshest. Rich? Poor? Who knows? Who cares? No one avoids me, no one stares at me as if I'm different, they accept me without knowing anything about me. Nobody is judging me. Not like how I thought they would or if I'm really honest, not how I would have judged them or perhaps even did.
Because that little gym represents a community, and that community is in Brixton. Not the big bad scary Brixton (gun shots, stabbings!) that I thought it was, but real life Brixton. People who work hard, who want a good life, not the high-life but a valued life. You can hear it in the way the talk about their families and children. Not once has anyone asked what i do or where i work as to them that's irrelevant. I'm there with them, so we have to have something in common? How unlike the people i usually meet.
The saying don't judge a book by a cover couldn't more more true, but in this case it goes a lot deeper than that. The interesting parts of life are the gritty parts, just like the gritty areas. So look outside your Sloane Sqaure and Shoreditches. There is a lot more to learn, and interesting people to meet when you do and you dont have to get on a plane to South America to realise it either, the end of the Victoria line will do.
