by Leela MadhavaRau
I have never seen myself as a “gym person.” Long before I developed the chronic disability trifecta of rheumatoid arthritis, fibromyalgia and degenerative disc disease, this was not a place where I felt at home. I have long been uncomfortable with my body – size and type – and being in a gym seemed to be a form of public exposure.
This, it must be admitted, is hypocrisy of the highest order. For most of my career – over 30 years – I have ensured that the universities where I worked held sessions for those who might feel uncomfortable in a communal gym environment. I have run numerous workshops on respecting and honouring all body shapes, sizes and weights. All that time, and I have never admitted this in such a public forum, I have hated how I looked.
At the same time, I was doing numerous rounds of physical therapy, which often seemed indistinguishable from what people might be doing in the gym. I remember working on various pieces of equipment and making this comment. The physio said, “It is exactly what you would do if you were paying for Pilates classes.”
In my first decades, I walked everywhere, and at a rapid pace. My only previous gym membership was to use an indoor track for walking in the winter. In May 2021, I became a dog parent for the first time, to rescue husky Atlas. He gets me walking about 13,000 steps on a weekday (I work from home) and up to 20,000 on the weekends. This has been helpful for my health generally but has also led to several injuries requiring more physical therapy. After the last one – a partially torn rotator cuff caused by slipping on the ice on one of those Atlas walks – I began to wonder whether I should be doing something to strengthen my body.
However, searching for a trainer and gym seemed a scary proposition. Fortunately, before I got far in my search, I saw a Facebook notice from a colleague in another part of my life.
This seemed perfect timing – someone who met all my exacting criteria had space. Without giving myself time to doubt, I made contact. When I asked my rheumatologist if I could try strength and conditioning classes instead of the physical therapy he was recommending for yet another joint issue, he looked somewhat surprised but said as long as I was sure to do stretching beforehand and be careful to stop if there was pain.
So, in September I made my first entrance into a gym as a client, entering into this new setting with some trepidation in spite of my trust in trainer Laura. It was not dissimilar to walking into any new culture – ignorant of the purpose of the many machines and sure I wasn’t going to be able to make use of them.
However, very quickly, I was immersed in my new environment, learning the language thrown around casually – Romanian Deadlifts, Dead Bugs, Superman, Plank, Bird Dog, Leg Press, Leg Extension. Bands, Around the World, Kettlebell Farmer’s Carry and so on. It must be said that many of these challenge my mind-body coordination but I have managed to complete all – increasing numbers and weights each class.
I find most classes hard work and it would be easy to give up, but I try to make it a point to never stop unless it is clear that I am moving into the area of disease pain rather than exercise pain. This is the type of distinction for which there must be absolute trust with the trainer. Laura will listen to what is happening with my body and suggest variations on the exercise, or a different one. I appreciate that she doesn’t let me off completely but takes the risk to my health seriously.
There are obvious similarities with physical therapy – including working toward achieving the same goal of strengthening body parts and enhancing quality of life. However, I find upper body, core and leg training far more holistic than physical therapy on individual body parts. I get through both in a similar manner -much as I cope with painful medical procedures – muttering in my head, “It will soon be over and things will be better.”
And I do feel better. For the first time, I care less about how my body looks and more about gaining strength and capacity that will be of assistance as diseases progress.
So, what make a gym comfortable for me, a 60-year-old British South Asian Canadian woman living with disabilities?
This gym is small, located in a local strip mall. In large gyms I have visited, or been on the periphery of, the feeling of entering an alien culture has always been reinforced. The spaces are often cavernous, with sound echoing (Tinnitus is a side-effect of my diseases so this is always disconcerting), people moving from machine to machine, none of which I know the purpose of or how they are used. In addition, the majority of those present seem in great shape already. I rarely see the very fit but larger physique individuals I know exist. There is also often a notable lack of clothing which enhances the feelings of inadequacy for someone already concerned about their body. As I mentioned, it is a small gym. In my timeslot, there are never more than three individuals working with different trainers – we are all at very different fitness levels. Still, there is no air of competition, something I perceive in other gyms I have been in.
The trainer’s description of herself is not hyperbole and speaks to what makes me so comfortable to enter the space, as well as sometimes fail in the space:
Laura has been a beginner in the gym. She’s been the only woman in a gym. She’s had aggressive coaches and trainers who made assumptions (over-estimating and under-estimating) about what she could or could not do. She’s felt unwelcome and uncomfortable, and she’s been made to feel unwelcome and uncomfortable.
And she doesn’t want any of that for you.
Training with Laura means training with a trauma-informed coach in a supportive environment where she meets you where you are in your health and fitness journey. It means being encouraged to try new things and do more while being listened to about what you/your body can do that day. It means learning that you’re stronger than you know while being motivated by a compassionate and knowledgeable coach/trainer.
So, this January I don’t need any resolution (not that I make them) to keep me going to the gym. At least to this gym to work with this trainer!
Leela MadhavaRau is the owner of LMR Human Rights and Equity Consulting. She has spent her working life in the field of equity and inclusion, working at universities in both Canada and the United States. Her academic background is in Social Anthropology, with a specific focus on the transmission of culture across time and space. Her degrees are from McGill and the University of Cambridge. She has lived a life between cultures and countries, one of the few multiracial children born in 1960’s London (UK). Leela immigrated with her family to Canada in the 1970’s when “Where are you from” was one of the most common questions. Her career has been one of working to create dialogue; wanting all of us to be able to maintain curiosity and be independent thinkers. This responsibility has been inculcated in her four children, now ages 24 through 31. She adopted her Siberian Husky, Atlas, in May 2021 and her life hasn’t been the same since!
