The Real Purpose of a Gym
Words by Adeola Sheehy
I used to think I wasn’t a ‘gym person’, just like I wasn’t a sports person at school. My internal narrative dripped with scorn. I wasn’t one of those people I could see from the windows, running on the spot like a hamster in a wheel. I wasn’t obsessed with the physical like them. I was focused on higher things and preferred the realness of delving deep into my spiritual practice, over my appearance and the demands of a patriarchal society that required me to look a certain way. Even hearing me say that now leaves me cringing in shame, wondering at the sanity of revealing these thoughts, but I wonder if I’m not the only one.
A part of me was standing on the side-line of a dance floor wanting to take part but not knowing how to begin, but on another deeper level was a belief that somehow the gym people were bad. It was bad to care about your physical appearance, bad to waste so much time jumping up and down sweating in-front of strangers. Looking good was something you should try to achieve silently and effortlessly behind closed doors so that the world outside would only view the carefully curated version you allowed them to see. It was yet another aspect of the ‘good girl’ that I hadn’t put words to but was influencing my life and choices.
I didn’t associate ‘women at the gym’ with health, fitness, or strength, which I would if I were thinking about a male. No, the embedded thought was of vanity. Stereotypes of the kept housewife, the woman terrified of aging, and the woman whose only value could be found in a mirror, kept my own truth hidden and secure. But whose stereotypes were they if not the crazy culture that we find ourselves within? That infiltrates our ways of relating to each other, causing divisions that weaken us and use us to hold each other down.
I had a community of women I could share with, tell my story to, cry and laugh with, and while it was a space I could drop all pretense, it was still a space that would often tire rather than invigorate me. Sometimes I wanted to talk, to share and listen to others and see myself reflected in their experience, but others times I just wanted to feel. I wanted to use my body instead of my voice and I wanted to feel good. That was when I rediscovered dance.
I nagged and cajoled myself for weeks and eventually made a deal that I would avoid the ‘gym’ and just try a class or two. I could feel my body becoming ‘middle aged’ and my mind and soul were definitely not in agreement. I was not ready to become sedentary just yet. Team sports caused me to break out into a cold sweat anticipating the inevitable humiliation at the hands of with my teacher or peers, and the prospect of group exercise brought those fears straight back to the surface. I told myself it would be just one class, just one time standing in the back, and I’d never have to go back if I didn’t want to.
That first night something amazing happened. I walked into a women’s space. Some were hesitantly smiling, others were laughing together in small groups, there was banter and the energy in the room was of excitement and anticipation. The music began, and the teacher guided us through, laughing all the way. I found myself part of a team. All sweating together, moving together, and getting high on endorphins together, and it clicked, the ideas in my head were just stories. Narratives I’d been told for decades that were based in a culture that didn’t have my best interests at heart.
This is how we bring the feminine into masculine dominant spaces, not male, masculine. Spaces in which we’re encouraged to compete and be better than, spaces in which the focus is on our outward selves rather than our inner truth. Spaces in which the choice to be soft and vulnerable is terrifying, but opens us up to a deeper and transformative experience on every level. The feminine allow us to be fully present emotionally, mentally and physically and while at first glance the gym doesn’t seem to be a place where that could be of benefit. I’ve watched in awe as women power through a combat class, funneling all their anger, all their frustrations out through their bodies and feel empowered, strong, and centered at the end. I have watched their healing in real time and it has taken my breath away.
The culture I live in has given me the impression that dance is for someone younger, someone who looks differently from me. When I think of going out with friends, there just aren’t many options that won’t involve alcohol or men who assume their attention is the goal. I think that is why we either dance alone in our homes, with the music cranked up, singing as loudly as we dare to the songs that we love, or in structured classes which hold an intimidation level of their own. There is a freedom, a sense of liberation that comes when we let go and just feel, and isn’t that what we are all looking for… safe spaces to just be?
I have found a place where I can share that moment with 20 others. Where we can stop at the end of a song, hands on thighs as we laugh trying to catch our breath. There are no words needed, just the bright shining eyes, the ‘glow’ of sweaty skin, and the rushing of our heartbeats as we get ready to start again.
In that shared moment, our defenses come down and our energy is exposed, free to travel the space joining us to each other. We move through the steps, laughing as we learn new ones, giggling as we forget old ones. We cackle, and belly laugh when the music turns sensual, or time travels us back to teenage memories, full well knowing that we’re living our glory days right now.
Then, the time is done, we slowly make our way out and the heat from our bodies meets the cold night air. Plumes of fog halo around our heads, and as I watch the others leave I am flooded with a sense of peace and pleasure. I turn back to the building, the gym I once scoffed at and dismissed out of hand, and I still feel surprised. I wonder how many others walk past having no idea of what really happens here?
About the Author:
Mother, writer and women circle facilitator, Adeola leads courses in creativity and all aspects of the feminine experience. The written word has been her expression, safe haven and dearest love for as long as she can remember. Be it fiction, poems, essays or musings on life, her pen is almost always attached to paper.
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