GuestBlog: Sophie van der Stap
There are two types of women who frequent the gym: the gym starlets and the sloggers. The former glide over the treadmill, the rowing machine and the elliptical trainer, light as a feather. When they lift a weight, it is as if they are picking up a piece of paper from the floor; not a muscle in their face twitches. In fact, they smile. Their bodies are wrapped in hip, tight fabrics that would run an evening dress close in a style contest. And thanks to the latest sports bras, their cleavages want for nothing either.
I used to be one of those unbearable gym starlets too. In those days, I would go to the gym 4 to 5 times a week, and after 90 minutes’ sweating I’d say: “Wow, that feels great”. How insufferable I must have been, in my hip sports outfits, to the sloggers around me. Those poor sloggers, who just about make it through the gym doors twice a week, often still wearing the kids’ dinner and last night’s cooking smells preserved in a greasy ponytail. Upon arrival in the changing room, they realise they only have one sock and have mixed up their jogging bottoms with their daughter’s in their haste – which does have the effect of further boosting their desire to polish up their image in the mirror, but sends their resolve to take their places among the gym starlets – apparently floating after an hour on the treadmill – crashing through the floor.
I may not be troubled by any of the above inconveniences, but I am once again a novice at the gym. And standing between four gym starlets who are clearly in better control of the rubber band between their feet than me, the look between me and the other slogger in the room is a meaningful one.
Slow and steady wins the race, they say. One good thing is those latest sports bras.
- 06 February, 2020
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