I used to be that person at the gym.
The one on the treadmill dressed in a ratty old t-shirt with holes in the sleeves and also along the hemline. The one heading to a Body Pump class wearing layers of cotton, rather than layers of lycra.
It was 2008, and I was developing an interest in exercise. But I was also working at a video store, and found it difficult to justify spending my incredibly hard-earned dollars (it was essentially slave labour – I had to alpabetise the DVDs every damn DAY) on things like t-shirts made out of sweat-wicking material.
While I could find it within myself to afford the gym (student prices, woo!), I couldn’t afford the wardrobe. And so my gym clothes consisted of…
– A pair of old cotton shorts with “HAWAII” printed across the bum, purchased in 2002 and two sizes two small
– A pair of dance pants, left over from after-school-activities days, with flares that wouldn’t have been out of place at a dress-up party
– One old school shirt, made of vaguely sweat-wicking material
– One extremely oversized NRL jersey, won in a raffle.
Oh, and was I ashamed. The gym was, and remains to be, a sea of either cute or at least relatively practical workout outfits, and I was extremely out of place.