It had been two years since I’d done a Body Pump class at The Barn. I went along with my pal Claire. Turns out we used to be regulars at the very same class long before we knew each other, setting up our barbells just metres apart.
Nothing has changed in our absence. It’s still a sweltering hellbox, the microphones still don’t work and most delightful of all, it’s still the same patrons. Standing in the exact same places doing the exact same things.
"Hey! There’s those two obnoxious chicks who insist on having really loud conversations throughout the whole class!"
"And there’s still that chick that never stays for the cool down."
"And there’s that chick with the perfect hair and perfect makeup and the REALLY HUGE WEIGHTS. I thought she’d be lifting cars by now."
"I can’t believe all those years we were two metres apart and bitching about the very same people. We coulda been bitching together!"
In these crazy credit crunchy enviro mental times it’s very comforting to discover there is a place where time stands still. The instructor will always sing, the lunges will always hurt, the songs will always be cringeworthy, and that bloke will always be snorting and grunting through the bicep track because he overloaded his bar to prove to the ladies what a hero he is.
I stayed for Body Combat afterwards, and reassuringly there was still the dude up the front with the helicopter arms and sparring gloves who’s taking it all very seriously. Ahhh.