that's the normal thing to do

on being embarrassing at the gym and the time I met Henry Cavill. plus songs I'm talking about.

So here we are. It feels a bit surreal knowing people are reading this but I’m glad to have you all along with me; a nice break from my default mode of gazing into the abyss and hoping someone notices. To everyone who has subscribed (and even paid), I’m touched and flattered. The idea that someone out there is willingly enduring my rants and ravings is a consolation, and no doubt a shock to many of my friends and colleagues.

I’ve been thinking about where to begin – many of you know me already and some of you are just starting to – so rather than dive into my backstory and history, I thought why not jump into the things happening around me, or rather the things happening to me.

I often feel like I’m one of those people that things happen to. The kind of person that’s always in the story but not at the heart of it, more conflict-adjacent than conflict-victim. Like that friend you catch up with and you’re discussing some terrible thing in the news and they casually drop in “oh I was there”. It’s more Carrie in her Dior newspaper dress drifting down 5th Avenue at noon after ruining someone’s life than Carrie cheating with Big and actually ruining peoples’ lives (Carrie’s probably not a good example here but I’ve been rewatching Sex and the City so indulge me).

Which leads me to the gym and exercise. I can imagine the collective groan reading those words like “god is this a fitness blog?” It isn’t, it could never be. I could never be. Not with my record. But things happen to me when I exercise, notably in public. I’m a bit like the Emily in Paris equivalent of working out – you’re sort of fascinated it exists but simultaneously can’t comprehend how it does; every next move is a disaster unfolding but yet you can’t look away.

Full disclaimer, I love going to the gym – I find it as much a mental exercise as a physical one. But it remains to be a place of cringe for me.

I’ve been going for over a decade and still to this day I’ll find a machine I have no idea how to use and instead of being a normal person and asking someone how to use it, I’ll spend minutes googling the machine, scanning its QR code of instructions and then getting on it only to realise I should be pulling it from below rather than grabbing it from above.

Just this week, I got on a piece of equipment where you had to wrap a belt around you while you released the weight to squat. As I climbed on top of it, all logic left my brain. Suddenly there I was, already a tall person, towering above everyone, anchored down by a weight hanging from my waist like some creaking oil rig at sea, completely lost as to what I did next. The right move was to squat. Instead I sort of stood there, made some exasperated motion with my hands at the machine like someone on the edge (of sanity) would, and scuttled out grinning wildly to no audience but myself, making a mental note to never go near that machine again.

Once upon a time, in a story familiar to a lot of my friends, I was at a nice gym in London at the same time Henry Cavill (aka Superman) was. The gym was structured on three main floors, the middle one serving as a kind of mezzanine to the bottom one. He was on the lowest floor and I was in the middle. I crept to the edge like Gollum leering, fascinated that this extremely attractive man was actually in front of me.

He was as good looking in person, in a kind of conventionally handsome way – tall, broad, strong jaw – and was lifting a weight that was probably twice my bodyweight. Swept up in his looks and a sudden confidence in the mechanics of my own body, I peered over further to get a better look. At this moment, Henry, got up to move – and he was heading upstairs in my direction. Me being the least subtle person in the world, spun around, desperate to appear normal and working out while he passed me by. In that split second, I tripped over the dumbbells I’d left forlornly on the ground. I fell front first, legs splayed and face down. And while there was a moment I’d probably imagined something like this between me and him, this wasn’t it.

All of a sudden I could hear him coming up the stairs. “Just get up!” I thought to myself. “Say hello, be normal”, said the reasonable voice in my head. But as he got closer, I got more embarrassed. “Maybe he saw you looking at him?” I thought. It seemed unlikely but then so was this entire scenario. I could hear him reach the top of the stairs. “Get up Tom!”. But I didn’t. I just lay there, askew and ashamed, waiting for him to pass me by, praying he didn’t notice me or if he did, assumed I was doing some very ungainly floor work.

I stayed put face dow on the floor until he passed, red-hot embarrassment coursing through my body. I motioned to move and I felt a nudge and a hand on my shoulder. Another guy at the gym was there, holding out his hand to help me up. He looked at me and said “Don’t worry about it”, grinning all the while. I knew he knew. He knew I knew. I went back to my dumbbells and Henry I’m sure never came back to this gym.

me in the changing room afterwards

The thing is, I just get myself into these situations. Anything embarrassing that has happened at the gym, I’ve done it. Locked yourself out of your locker with only a towel draped around you? Done. Accidentally turned the torch-light function on your phone on in the changing room and been accused of taking a picture of someone? Done. Cracked a nearly floor-to-ceiling tv screen at the gym? Done.

Which leads me to the other week, where I decided I’d finally try a fitness class, in this case reformer pilates. I need to preface this by saying I know how insanely bougie this sounds. It’s something that is as far from my personality as you can find (maybe bar organised fun at work). But it’s the reason I had to try it because this is the year I swore I’d be better at trying new things.

I think I missed the boat when group fitness became a trend and I’m a little terrified of any class because of the level of enthusiasm and optimism at play. I think it’s the reason I’ve always avoided things like spin classes. 1. because it’s the kind of trend I always thought would eventually die post-pandemic 2. it’s a hybrid of group exercise and forced fun that just doesn’t really land with my natural cynical and reluctant self.

To give you an idea of my natural reticence, the other day I told Maira that a friend of mine had asked me to meet them in Paris and she scoffed: “you won’t even get UP for your own job you’re paid for so I don’t know why they’d think you’d go there to meet them”. As ever, she is a delight but not wrong. It takes a lot to get me excited and enthused and to move.

But back to fitness. In the spirit of journalism, I told myself I’d try a pilates class before I judged. How bad could it be?

I booked a random class nearby me and had very little idea of what reformer pilates involved. I’d heard varying descriptions from people who raved about it (“the best workout seriously Tom!”) to those raving in another sense (“I almost died”). As someone who loves melodrama, I was intrigued.

cc Veep and also me on the left basically

I turned up and was told I needed to purchase specific socks with rubber grips on them, so I wouldn’t fall off the machine. The likelihood of the latter happening seemed fairly high for me so I bought the socks and was ready. I walked in and was told I was on the machine at the end of the room. Perfect, I thought to myself, right at the end of the room obscured from everyone’s view.

I walked over to my machine. I don’t know if anyone has ever seen a reformer pilates machine before but I genuinely had not until very recently (thank you Veep). It sort of looks like a rowing machine if it were designed as a torture device or the kind of thing you walk into the dentist and think my god I hope I don’t have to lay down on that.

Either way, I didn’t even know where to start so I just sort of sat down on the edge waiting for further instruction. The rest of the class arrived and then the instructor waltzed in too. He swept over the room, clearly drawn to my amateur energy and possibly the fact that I was currently sitting backwards on the machine. “Is this your first time here?” he asked knowingly. “Yes” I replied. “Is there anything I should know or be concerned about before we begin?”. “Do you want a list?” I ventured, my weak stab at a joke. “I mean physical impairment” he said unamused and clearly jaded by people like me. “No” I said meekly. He nodded, his due diligence done, and with his fears about me likely confirmed, started the class.

For the most part, it began just fine. I did the stretches, rolled back and forth on the sliding seat, at every turn trying to not glimpse myself in the surrounding mirrors. I was following the girl next to me who was clearly a seasoned class-goer and that helped. That said, the class rapidly started to get more intense – the actual exercise bit was fine but I just was not fitting on the machine. I’m about 193cm tall so nothing is an easy fit. At one point the instructor – already beadily surveying the room for the weakest link – came over to inspect me. “It’s a bit of a tough fit isn’t it!” as if I needed further reminding of my giraffe-like build.

But I pushed on and I thought I was doing well. Pulsing my legs, pulling on any band I could, all the while the instructor boomed things like “let it all go! and “this is your moment, you got this” over the mic. There’s something about ‘love yourself’ banalities I can’t stand and he must have picked up my shift in energy because he passed by to correct my form. I’m sure he was used to seeing a mess but the sight of my legs flailing while I tried to balance on a moving seat was probably too much to bear. He trotted off only to broadcast, in a rather cloying voice, to the room: “no matter how you feel like you’re doing, the important thing is you’re here and trying.”

On saying I love myself in public

Naturally I assumed he was talking about me, because i’m delusional enough to believe every jab and comment is about me versus the 15 other people in the room also trying to survive. But I was sure of it. And after a brief glimpse of me in the mirror, hooked onto this machine like life support, I honestly wish I hadn’t tried.

He then proceeded to demand we all say “I love myself” out loud, an affirmation I’d refuse to say even if I wasn’t gasping for breath while someone hurled phrases like “bridge pose!” at me. “Say it with me: I love myself” he mused, the spirit of every self-help book descending into his body. Much of the room, predominantly Dutch, were clearly bemused by this outburst (a culture where emotion is often an unnecessary accessory) but sort of mumbled a version of it anyway. I kept quiet, suffering in degrees already and not willing to humiliate myself further. “That’s it! How good does that feel?” he bellowed, unaware of the deafening silence and Darth-Vader like breathing going on.

At this point I was feeling anything but love and thankfully the class was coming to an end. People started to hi-five each other while the instructor lauded many of the participants for their efforts. I was not one of those, deeply aware of my natural ineptitude here, but I sort of grimaced in the way of the instructor as if to say “well, there you have it!” as I tumbled off the machine, the only solace that it couldn’t talk.

“I’ll see you all again next week" he declared, eyes scanning the room for a victim. I ducked away, mortified at the idea of voluntarily debasing myself further when I do that at work daily. I got changed and sped home on my bike, far from the grips of a pilates studio. “How was it?” said Daniel, ever the optimist. I pulled out the rubber-bottomed socks and said I had to wear these. “Maybe just stick to the gym” he said smiling. I think I probably will.

things i’m talking about

I thought it might be nice to add a feature at the end of every post about the music, words, pieces I’m enjoying. Expect this to be an eclectic mix but hopefully one you always find something you like in. And keeping this open to everyone at the start!

• when i tell you i am and was obsessed with this band while I was in Berlin last month. they feel like Lana meets Cigarettes after Sex meets Sarah Klang meets SoccerMommy.

• stumbled upon this band who are giving me very pre-2010s moody alt rock. liking this song a lot.

• summer is disappearing and Men I Trust always feel like a kind of hazy summer listen, for those languid afternoons where you don’t do much but that’s what makes them perfect. I also love the medieval court-inspired artwork as a jingling fool myself.

visual personification of the multiple personalities behind i used to talk

• this tweet hit me and further proof James Baldwin just always gets it right (posting below for the non-Twitter users). I don’t imagine Dostoyevsky had quite the same fitness experiences as I did though I like the idea of him doing pilates.