I. AM. LAZY.
Not in the sense that I spend each day draped across the sofa, soaking up the dross that is daytime TV like an upturned turtle, or that I can't summon the energy to get out of bed before midday. But in the sense that exercise has always had little to no appeal to me, none in the slightest. Something of a paradox, given my somewhat unhealthy addiction to football and cricket.
For years the hordes have queued up to tell me how much of a release commitment to a personal training regime, or a good five kilometer run is for one's state of mind. Indeed even those high profile public figures whom I revere the most, as a result of their commitment to mental health campaigning (such as Alastair Campbell and Professor Green), appear to wax-lyrical about the benefits exercise has for the mind. In fact, when I first confessed to my being a depressive back in 2018, exercise was one of the first constructive suggestions my significant other had made.
"Nah, not for me" was my stock answer for anyone who suggested I should switch the armchair for a rowing machine. It turns out though, for the first time in my life (sense the sarcasm) that I was wrong, and that exercise really is a crucial component of the solution to keep ill-mental health at bay, and it takes very little to actually apply oneself to a structured fitness plan.
Before I share my fairly enlightening journey, let me just elaborate on the obstacles that blocked my pathway to adopting an exercise routine, in the hope that this may a) help others overcome similar obstructions and b) help those who may, however inadvertently, be the cause of people like me circumventing this essential aspect of a healthy lifestyle:
1). It doesn't feel good: that's true, it doesn't at first, quite the opposite. In fact if you've spent (as I had) the best part of your twenties enjoying the most glutenous of diets and spending far too much time with your feet up, it feels bloody awful. It hurts, stings and makes you feel nauseous.
Personal view: This part is inevitable I'm afraid, and it takes some doing, but it just has to be accepted that at first it'll feel pretty sh*t, painful and leave you wondering why you bother. Sadly though, you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. You quite literally have to dig deep, suck it up and remind yourself that this part of the process is a necessary evil.
2). There is so much conflicting advice on where to start: yup, and this is possibly the most frustrating aspect. Social media influencers; high-profile personal trainers who have a strong online presence; fitness-fanatic friends; and crossfitters - they all think that they know what's best for you, better than you do.
Personal view: Follow your instinct, if you're anything like me you like to start small and keep it simple. You'll know when you've found a routine that suits you and if what you're being advised sounds excessive, it probably is. Nobody knows you better than you.
3). However well you think you're doing, there is always some smug tw*t telling you "that's nothing": we've all met them. In fact during July I ran two miles per day to raise money for Alzheimer's Research UK, a cumulative 62 miles. I went from sod all, to 62 miles inside of a month, brilliant eh? sadly not good enough for some. "Two miles a day isn't that hard", "Is that all?", "62 miles is nothing, I do that inside of 10 days", "Someone your age should be doing a sub-9-minute mile easily".
Personal view: Frankly, these people are d*ckheads, just tune them out, your journey is personal to you and so long as you feel better, healthier and happier, don't waste time worrying about what some floppy haired, Reebok-wearing, ego-monster who has to trample on your achievements to help themselves manage their insecurities thinks. You do you, sod the rest.
Now we've gotten that over and done with, let's move on to the journey ...
My fiancée had seen a personal trainer on and off for a number of years, we've never really discussed it, honestly-speaking I wasn't in the least bit interested and I knew any relevant conversation, would only lead into another lecture about how I really must exercise a little more if I want to live to see fifty (I'm exaggerating, but you get the point). She was right, I knew she was right, but despite my desire to get in shape, the prospect of going to a gym full of tattoo-clad gym bunnies, whose biceps are bigger than my both of my thighs put together, staring at themselves lovingly in the floor to ceiling mirror whilst juggling a set of 30kg dumbbells, filled me with horror. And there was absolutely no chance that I was going to spend my hard-earned money, to be told by some privileged posh-boy who weighs his runner beans and preaches about the virtues of snacking on walnuts, with an sickening level of enthusiasm, that I've "really got to work on those gains, bro".
"I spoke to Sarah [personal trainer] about you tonight, I told her you don't really like exercise but want to be a healthier and she said she can do a few sessions with you and see if you like it. She said come along and she'll develop a program that suits you, and if you don't like it and decide after the first session it isn't for you, that's fine, she won't take offence" said my significant other whilst I was stuck to the corner-sofa one June-evening.
I'm not sure whether it was a rush of blood to the head, a recognition that I was getting fat pretty rapidly, or that I was sick to death of being out of breath whilst walking our two highly energetic four-legged friends, but I agreed, not reluctantly either, I was genuinely willing. That was probably ten weeks ago and I have had session pretty well every week since.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm still not a huge fan of 'working out', I'm no marathon runner and I haven't turned into the very 'gym-bunnies' I sought to avoid weeks ago (I'm not sure I ever will). I am though, healthier. I can run a few miles with relative ease, I can manage 15 press-ups without my elbows buckling, I can deadlift 85kg and I'm on the way to being able to pull off an unassisted chin-up or two. The really big change though, is that I am no longer reliant on anti-depressants to keep the demons isolated, and this is in no small part due to the structure, progression, and self-belief these sessions with my personal trainer (Sarah) has given me.
So, what convinced that overweight (past tense, but I'm still carrying some timber!), sluggish, exercise-sceptic to a) commit to a personal training program and b) achieve a level of physical health that six months ago appeared completely unattainable (I wish to emphasise again, I am no fitness fanatic but am achieving a decent level of physical wellbeing):
It's all about the trainer: Sarah keeps it simple, she listens and is respectful of my limits. I understand from reliable sources that many personal trainers take the old-school military style approach of 'beasting' their clients until they vomit, a "go hard or go home" philosophy. I'm afraid that is not for me, I don't want to vomit, I want to be healthy, I want to leave a training session feeling confident and healthy, being (or nearly being) sick achieves neither of those things. Straightforward goals, steady enhancement of intensity and gradual improvement appear to be Sarah's philosophy where I am concerned, and it works a treat for me.
It can be fun: don't get me wrong, there is nothing enjoyable about two minutes on the assault bike (other than the calories one has burned off at the end). But a personal trainer who cracks a joke, let's you pick your own workout song and will engage in human conversation with you (like mine), is far more conducive to a productive training session than a sterile, inhumane, Sergeant Major-esque instructor perpetually telling you to "push yourself" and "dig deep" because they think "you can do better than that".
Encouragement is inspiration: I've had sessions where I know for a fact I have not achieved the same outputs as the session before, perhaps because I'm tired or just have the wrong mindset. But Sarah is very quick to celebrate successes, however small, she breaks things down into bitesize chunks so that when you're struggling to meet your previous personal bests, you find the means to achieve in a different way. For example, last week I might have achieved 6 reps of 85kg deadlifts, but this week I might be struggling to reach 5 reps using the same weight. Instead of trying to push me through a barrier that at this point I'm unable to dismantle, we'll do 10 reps of 75kg. We've found the finish line, in fact we've smashed through it, but we've taken a slightly different route - that isn't failure, it's success through adaptation.
Exercise isn't the cure for depression, but it is a significant piece of the puzzle that is mental wellbeing, and even the most cynical amongst us can achieve a suitable level of health through a well-structured and sensible approach to exercise. This is another rung on the ladder towards a healthy mind and towards sound management of emotional health, particularly for those of us who suffer with varying degrees of ill-mental health.
Remember:
- Do what's right for you
- Tune out to the "that's nothing" brigade
- It's shi*t at first, but the pain is (very) short term
- Seek advice from those who are respectful, straightforward, fun and encouraging
Good luck, and as always - your opinions, comments and feedback are most welcome!
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