The yoga mat was pretty cheap. It isn’t a pretty colour and definitely could be an inch longer, but at least the delivery was free and it does its job. But as my shaking palms dig into its soft foam I very much want to rip it in half.
“Just three more sets, push!” the fitness instructor yells through my laptop. How did we get here? Using chairs as gym equipment and flinging ourselves off our beds for the sake of an “easier” burpee.
Gyms have officially been closed for two weeks now, and are set to remain so until May. Like many other students, I don’t expect my college gym to open again until the end of the virtual term we’ve been thrown into. So much for that nine-month saver deal.
With nowhere to go and not much to do, many are turning to home workouts to entertain themselves. Maybe ‘entertain’ is the wrong word to use for these workouts. The word ‘torture’ might be better perhaps! Since signing up for a live Zoom workout class with my friends, which we sweat our way through a few times a week before Facetiming the group chat to die in each other’s virtual arms, I have a newfound appreciation for people that work out at home.
The imagination involved in turning household items into weights and creating space in a Dublin city centre apartment astounds me. The dedication it takes to do crunches on the floor when the bed is so close by is mind-blowing. And the willpower of doing a run with a purpose other than to the fridge before the ads are over is truly breath-taking to me now.
“Straight down to press ups, 30 seconds go!” the laptop instructs. It is in this moment, on about my 11th push up, that I decide I officially hate COVID-19. I equally despise this gym instructor, that I stupidly paid to torture me through Zoom, but mostly I blame COVID-19.
Gyms weren’t this bad were they? Did it hurt this much to do tricep dips off of an actual piece of equipment rather than a stained coffee table? Was it easier with all of the beautiful people around you to stare at for motivation?
I plonk on the ground and hide beneath the camera as Mr Gym Instructor yells “Now, down into a plank!” with too much enthusiasm. Maybe he won’t find me here, hiding on the floor of my own bedroom with limbs like jelly.
There are another 20 people in the online class and I wonder how many of them are trying the same trick as me. I’d sneak a look but I’m too busy noticing all of the dust under my wardrobe. “Now, jump straight up to squats!” the laptop yells. I roll up hopelessly and kick the stupid yoga mat away.
COVID-19 is officially the worst.
