Gym Boys
Been hittin' the gym
backstory:
When the news of the first lockdown in Manila was declared, Mother immediately asked us to leave. Calling from our hometown, she frantically commanded us to pack, all the while screeching at my sister to book us flights. But barely an hour since the news broke out, almost all the flights had been booked. No planes were flying to our hometown for the next days and we ended up in Cebu (where my brother lives). That’s when my back pains began.
I’m the lightest sleeper and an insomniac. I like travelling, for sure. But that doesn’t mean I’m always comfortable sleeping on a hotel/motel bed, no matter how comfy. The scenes and people always compensate for that. But with regard to sleeping, there will always be something that would tick me off: the softness of the bed, the mattress weight, the roughness of the blanket, the temperature and most especially noise. The icing on the cake is that I can only ever sleep about 4 hours a night. I also overthink constantly. I don’t remember my last good night’s sleep but I can tell you that in my half a year’s stay in Cebu, I had never had one.
When I finally arrived to our hometown, after the two-week quarantine, I immediately scheduled an appointment with a rehabilitation doctor to which the treatment was weeks of physical therapy. My back eventually healed but of course, it was never the same. Now, after months of putting it off, I finally have money, time and strength to hit the gym.
Present:
It’s now two weeks since I first began exercising at the gym. I made it a point to invest on a coach/trainer, who graciously helps me with proper form and routines and sets suited to my fragile body. Each day is a different focus: Monday for chest; Tuesday for back; Wednesday for arms; Thursday for legs; Friday for core and Saturday for the whole body.
Every trail of sweat that slithers downwards from my scalp and body, I feel, is a blessing. Per Coach’s instructions (and after the stretching and warm-up), I start with the exercise bike. Five minutes was his advice though I do it for around twenty. That’s the amount of time it takes for my forearms and face to start to glisten. Minutes pass by and my armpits start to sweat, the front and back of my shirt get drenched, and I begin to feel a mild, radiating, tolerable pain from my upper leg muscles. I approach Coach again and he directs me to the exercises. And that’s my 6:30-AM-to-8:30-AM, Mondays to Saturdays.
In between sets, and to my particular viewing pleasure, I discreetly observe the men and boys all around me and sweating it out. Gyms, in the Philippines at least, are still male-dominated. In my gym, there is but one regular woman gym-goer. Moreover, there is a stark difference of beauty here in comparison to the Manila gym-goer boys.
At the capital, there seems to be a surplus of beautiful men, picturesque, lean and modern. Ours is a bit more rustic and drastically scarce.
Still, I try to see the beauty in them. Unlike the Carwash Boys, the Gym Boys are a bit more varied. We have the boys with twinkish bodies, desperately trying to lift dumbbells that are above their capacities. There are the Zaddies who do not care for the “standard” form of beauty but merely want their bodies hardened, protruding bellies and all. There are a couple of gym-goers, like this morning, who merely record themselves lifting weights for social media. There are those who come in drenched in both perfume and necklaces, as though compensating for the humiliating postures they have to endure while exercising. And there are the “already buffs.” Men with Greek-God bodies that pay nobody any attention.
Oddly enough, I don’t find the Gym Boys as attractive as the Carwash Boys. My main guess to this is that there’s no mystery in the Gym. People come in with set goals and it leaves less of a challenge for the imagination as opposed to, say, a passerby on the street. There are very few questions I can raise. There is little to turn into story.
The gym is the secret to the secret itself. The one place to go to that can generate mystery when one goes out of it.
I wish to be that passerby, a little buff, a little strong, with muscles that flex at the slightest bit of action. I wish for someone to be like myself when I see a strong man and ask the questions I ask myself: He’s so cute. That shirt hangs perfectly on him. Does he work out? Or is that from having a physical lifestyle? Is he into sports? Does he go the gym?
Here’s to your health! Mine’s improving a bit. :)
