Monday Musings: Am I…A Gym Bro Now?

I’ve been allergic (figuratively speaking) to strenuous physical activity for most of my adult life. I did not like sweating too hard or spending too much time thinking about fitness. I thought I was fit (comedy gold). I’ve been hitting tennis balls these past ten years, but that was just pa-cute tennis—I had never even played a full game until recently. But ever since I got shipped off to the emergency room for three days about four years ago, something has changed within me. Something was not the same. I found out that I’m extremely hypertensive and that, after extensive tests, it’s just my bad luck with genetics. I’ve been on maintenance meds since I was 33, and that will continue into the foreseeable future.

I couldn’t control my hypertension outside of meds, but at least I could control my fitness level. So, ever since my diagnosis, I started going to the gym three times a week. Now, I play tennis twice a week and hit the gym four times a week. Yes, it’s exhausting, but it also feels great to be the fittest I have ever been in my life. I feel stronger, my body hurts less (goodbye, Millennial Back Pain™). I don’t get migraines anymore. I used to hate the gym so much that I’d drag my feet every single time, but now, it’s something I look forward to.

And so, I couldn’t help but wonder… am I a Gym Bro now? Or a Gym Sis? Gym Babe? Gender-neutral Gym Rat?

One of my trainers (I have two) gave me the speech about adding more protein to my diet if I wanted to build muscle. After his rousing monologue, for the first time in my life, I actually considered drinking protein shakes. I don’t think I can eat 17 eggs a day! But maybe I can chug down a protein shake. My husband, James, got into protein bars, but not only are they ridiculously expensive, they also taste like sawdust with a distant memory of sugar or chocolate thrown in. Depressing. I don’t feel like paying 120 pesos per bar to feel depressed.

I feel the Gym Bro possessing me every time I hear someone complain about shoulder pain, back pain, even headaches. I try not to, but I JUST HAVE TO tell them that working out, or at least some stretching every day, will sort out the muscle pain in no time. Sure, they can get massages, but that’s only temporary—plus, many masseuses here are not very good. I’d say, “We need to strengthen our bodies to make them resilient to pain!” and “Pain is weakness leaving the body!”. That’s exactly the kind of things a Gym Bro would say. Eugh.

But honestly? I kind of love this version of me. The one who feels strong, who doesn’t wake up sore just from existing, who can actually carry heavy grocery bags and luggage without feeling like my arms will detach from my body. So maybe I am a Gym Bro, after all. A Gym Sis. A Gym Babe. Whatever it is, I’m here now. And I think I’m staying.