I had never, ever worked out with another human one-on-one. I run alone. I lift alone. I attend workout classes alone. I think this is normal, and to be honest, I look down on people who can’t go to a Pilates class solo. Like the movie theater or at the bar, workout classes and gyms are spaces where you, as a capable adult, should feel comfortable and unafraid to exist all by your lonesome from time to time.
Also, the idea of anyone I know in the same vicinity as me while I sweat profusely and gasp for air is quite harrowing. I’d like to be alone with my tomato-red face and drenched, smelly armpits, please and thank you. It’s why I could never fully wrap my head around couples that go on running dates. Or those “Gym Couple” accounts (which are uncomfortably sexual?) that occasionally crop up on my TikTok and Instagram. “Couples that train together stay together!” Not only are they growing their glutes, they’re growing together. Barf.
Really though, I think my repulsion to the idea of working out with a partner stems from the fact that my romantic relationships and fitness have, historically, been in upheaval. Let’s just say an ex-boyfriend of mine wasn’t too keen on me gaining weight a few odd years ago, and at the time, would make unkind comments about my body and activity level. So when I did finally express interest in becoming more active after the pandemic disrupted my pre-Covid fitness routine, he was elated. But the conversations surrounding my new fitness journey always centered around my weight. There was a desire that I’d “get back” to the way I looked before. (Yes, an actual thing a man said to me). Safe to say, that relationship ended shortly after.
When I look back at that time in my life, I’m always proud of myself for not going down the destructive path of undereating and over-exerting myself, a hole that’s very easy to slip into and almost impossible to crawl your way out of. Years ago, I could have easily skipped meals and passed out while running on the treadmill, hit my head and ended up in a coma. And all for what? So some person I dated for three years, a person who I assumed loved me for who I was as a human being and not my body, could…;love me again? The thought is embarrassing and bleak and still occasionally keeps me up at night.
In the years between the end of that relationship and the beginning of my current one, I worked on strengthening my relationship with my body and with working out. I’m not going to act like the desire to develop a fitness routine didn’t have to do, in part, with my desire to shed a few pounds, but I knew viewing working out solely as a mechanism for weight loss wasn’t sustainable. Nor did I want to correlate wellness and fitness with thinness. Instead, I was interested in functional fitness, in longevity. I wanted to start strength training because I live in New York and I have to haul Trader Joe’s grocery bags for miles. Because sometimes when I’m washing my hair in the shower, my arms get tired, and that makes me feel a little pathetic. Because walking is the best form of preventive medicine, body and mind.
In the short term, however, my motivation for staying consistent with my fitness routine was endorphins. I was constantly chasing that post-workout high, and even when I was in no mood to get out of my warm, cozy bed in the dead of winter to walk to the gym, I thought about how good I would feel after. That motivation took many forms. Opening the door after a hot yoga class and feeling the crisp, cold air hit my hot, red face. My morning ritual of grabbing a coffee and going for a mindful 3-mile walk before my day even started. The post-workout shower. Getting into bed and having my exhausted muscles drift me off into sleep. Working out became a “me” activity, and a sacred one at that, and I was not about to let a man permeate this safe space I carved for myself…until about two weeks ago, when I did. I guess I had faith in myself that I was allowing the right person in.
Turns out, if you and your partner have the same mindset about fitness, working out in tandem is rewarding, and dare I say, even fun. The only discussion of weight between my partner and I had to do with the amount I was lifting. My bench presses “looked too easy,” according to him. (I was flattered!), and pushed me to add more weight on. I felt challenged in a supportive, encouraging way that made me want to push myself harder than I perhaps normally would solo. Our training session had an emphasis on form, something that’s hard to course-correct when I’m training alone. It’s kind of like having your own, hot personal trainer — that you don’t even have to pay! After getting our gains on, we dusted a quick mile on the treadmill before leaving the gym. Then hopped in the car, drove a few blocks down the road to our favorite Mexican restaurant and proceeded to stuff our faces with tacos and jumbo-sized margaritas.
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