Blame it on Singende

Last night I told myself I would wake up first thing and go to gym. But here I am sitting in front of my computer instead, and I blame it all on Singende.

Gym cross-trainers
Photo by Allen Chipangura

Singende was a guy I met at university during my first year. He was dark, handsome and athletic-looking. He loved showing off his muscles in small t-shirts. One day Singende invited my friend Christina and I for a tour of the varsity gym. Like sheep we followed him. When we got there, he showed us around and identified the various equipment around. It was a very poorly equipped gym, I know that now. Most of the equipment were heavy weights. He made us try the several pieces out. And there we were, wanting to impress the handsome tour guide. We went overboard lifting everything on sight. Singende encouraged us and said if we felt a bit of pain, that was a good thing. It meant the work out was effective. 

He didn't tell us we needed to warm up first, or that working out had to be gradually built up - a process, not one grand event. We left the gym feeling this had been a day well-spent, and that we would be back the next day but alas! 
The next day saw me having to ask my room mate Siduduziwe to help me rise from my bed to prepare for my lectures. Every inch of my body screamed in agony. I struggled to take a bath and dragged myself to my morning lecture, which I was inevitably late for as I moved like a chameleon to avoid further damage to my aching muscles. I was convince I would die that day. I could not even laugh without feeling a hundred degrees of pain shooting through my body, I could not hug my friends. My ribs ached, my shoulders seemed damaged, my legs were heavy logs... Nothing on my body functioned the way it was supposed to. If I thought going to the lecture was difficult, I had a near death experience waiting for me on my way back. My room, H4 Swinton Hall was on the 2nd floor and now I had to go up the stairs. Those that have been beaten up by ruling party militia in a certain African country had nothing on me. I eventually got to my room and collapsed on my bed for what must have been several hours. The pain took more than a week to dissipate. Singende came to collect us for the next gym session, and said we needed to keep exercising for our bodies to become more resilient. Needless to say, he didn't see any of my teeth that day, or on any other thereafter. I avoided him like the plague, and he eventually gave up.

Gym circuit
  Photo by Allen Chipangura

More than a decade later, I joined gym again. I stick to the treadmill, stationary bike, cross trainers, and sometimes aerobics.

When I look at the circuit at my gym, which is quite cool for many, all I see is a mass of heavy metals with a potential to leave me bed ridden. One look at them and I'm on the verge of a panic attack. All because of Singende.I didn't even get to know his first name, but I know my children's children will get to know about him.This Singende who scared me off weights and is the reason why my arms aren't as toned as Michelle Obama's.