I live in a city where the ‘S’ word is uttered on a daily basis. ‘F’ bombs have infiltrated everyday lingo, and at Uni, you may even hear the abhorrent ‘C’ word casually exchanged during conversations around the lunch table. Now before you become too repulsed to read on, I should inform you that I am talking about the NEW ‘S’, ‘F’ and ‘C’ words.
Superfood. Flaxseed. Chia.
You see, in Sydney, goji berries are trending on the streets as well as on Instagram, and you must to learn to pronounce ‘quinoa’ properly because you will find it on every café menu. You are judged if you’re seen strolling through the city without a spirulina smoothie in your hand, and frowned upon if you are caught exiting a Maccas scoffing down a caramel sundae. Kale-green is the new black and to be honest, I ain’t got time for it.
A few months ago, I made the executive decision to succumb to peer pressure and commit myself to a 12 month gym membership. Joining a gym appeared to be the perfect way to jump on to the superfood/super-active lifestyle
cult bandwagon rolling through Sydney. However, little did I know, the actual membership process was far more strenuous than a kettle-bell workout.
My first gym session was scheduled for me by my own personal trainer, or ‘motivator’ as she calls herself. I was eager to discover the new healthy Hannah; I had my Nike Free’s on my feet, a vanilla protein bar in my hand, and Instagram at the ready for the inevitable gym selfies #fitspo. Ironically, however, my visit involved no training whatsoever. Instead my ‘fitness director’ insisted on discussing my ‘health and fitness aspirations‘. Really? I ain’t got time for your compulsory 60 minute ‘new member induction’. What is this? I’m only here to use the treadmill and maybe one of those
bouncy Swiss balls, not join the defence force.
Please, just take my cash, hand over my membership card and pass me my complimentary hat. I ain’t got time to think up a profound list of goals that I’m not that motivated to achieve. No, I do not want to subscribe to your monthly newsletter, nor do I wish to receive inspirational quotes via text message. Dearest ‘fitness director’: I ain’t got time to explain that my sole fitness aim is to be able to fasten up the top button of my spray-ons. And I most certainly haven’t got the time to justify why my only health objective is driven by the newfound superfood craze and all the peer pressure attached to it.