So my friend asked me whether, given I was reluctant to go to the gym, I had ever considered setting up a home gym. This isn’t an unreasonable question, setting aside the fact that I live in a house the size of a shoebox. The answer is yes, I’ve considered it. In fact I’ve probably had more equipment in and out of my house over the years than Bannatyne’s if I’m being honest. Even growing up I remember owning a rope and pulley contraption which fitted over my bedroom door and provided resistance training of some kind…I can tell you it was red and white but I don’t remember much about using it. Watch closely, and you’ll see a theme developing.
My first proper piece of gym equipment was a treadmill which I’d seen advertised in a ‘New Year Sale’ catalogue – I was the idiot in line at 6am on New Years’ Day outside the store eager to grab a bargain. Clearly the alarm bells should have been ringing at that point when nobody else felt the need to turn up at stupid o’clock and join me. Far from racing through the store and pitting my wits against squillions of other bargain hunters all keen to get their hands on said treadmill, when the doors opened at 10am I was still in a line of one. Still, purchase made and car loaded off I went to start the New Year by jogging 10 miles a day in the hope that I’d be skinny by Easter.
Except when I got it home, I couldn’t figure out how to turn it on. As it transpired, I didn’t need to turn it on – it wasn’t that kind of treadmill. (I mean FFS, hands up who even knew there was more than one kind?) It was a big heavy thing which operated by foot power only and in light of this new information it certainly hadn’t been a bargain. No wonder nobody else wanted it, it was useless. Well, I’m exaggerating, it wasn’t totally useless – it made a really good clothes stand when it was folded up behind my bedroom door. But as a treadmill, epic fail.
My next big purchase was a power plate – that sounded right up my street, and clearly this was going to be the answer to all my prayers. You do what? Stand on it and bend your knees a bit and it shakes the fat around so you burn it off really quickly? Get in, I’m all over that. Trouble was, it had a platform the size of a postage stamp and no matter what angle I tried, I couldn’t plant my feet and assume the position without falling off the damn thing especially when it started wobbling. I used it a couple of times but given that it sounded like a Boeing 747 was about to take off in my bedroom, the dog barked at it relentlessly (and why wouldn’t he, I kept landing on him) and it made me feel a bit sick, this too was a short-lived. To put the cherry on top, I’d bought it second hand and it had been stood in someone’s garage for a while so far from tightening up my gluteus maximus the only lasting legacy was that it left big dirty feet marks on my cream bedroom carpet.
Looking on the bright side, I had to walk round all this gear to get to the bed, so I did walk further as a direct result. Baby steps people, baby steps 🙂
