By Douglas Kruger
WEIGHTLIFTING is all fun and games in your 20s. Hit 45, and the only thing between you and death is ibuprofen.
I recently overheard this snippet of commiseration in a St Helier gym locker room: “Mate, mine hurts too. All the time. It’s just getting old, isn’t it? I’ve got golfer’s elbow… and I don’t play golf.” I felt for the guy, but didn’t enjoy the fact that he was ten years younger than me.
Walking home, I then calculated that I’ve been dragging my carcass to an assortment of gyms, all around the world, for over 20 years now. When I couldn’t find one, I would use exercise bands in my hotel room.
And I have a good deal to show for these decades of diligence. Dodgy shoulder, violently sparking elbow, perpetually aching lower back. One knee that doesn’t like to straighten completely. Oh, and a troubling clicking noise in my right ankle that keeps me from walking across quiet library floors, because the sound is too embarrassing.
So I thought I’d share some useful tips for gym goers of a certain age. Call it: How to look bad-ass, when all you really want is to limp home, sink into a CareCo recliner, and have a portly grandmother serve you paracetamol-laced soup.
It’s a niche audience, I grant you.
Still, at some point between your period of peak testosterone, and complete surrender to Friday night Bingo, there will be a few years’ window. You’ll want to look active, even as body parts begin to creak alarmingly.
Now, we must begin by setting reasonable expectations.
Firstly, with the passage of time, some limits must apply. You’re just going to injure yourself if you persist with those challenging moves from your youth: bending over to tie a shoelace, adjusting a cap while it’s still on your head. Big sneezes. Leave that nonsense to the youth.
And secondly, there are clever ways of faking everything. You just need to style it out. I’ll show you how.
Tip number one…
Highly active, tough-looking people often chew gum. Harness this fact and use it as a smokescreen. Get yourself a Wrigley’s container. Fill it with 69p pain relief pills from Boots. Pop one nonchalantly into your mouth halfway through any given workout. Give a few pretend chews to throw off the overly observant.
For bonus points, consider upgrading from the gum container to a cannister with a menacing label. Something vaguely bodybuilderish. “Animal Jam Death Pump!”, or “Pulsing Rage Explosion Face!” Festoon it liberally with pictures of weights and skulls.
To sell the ruse, be a little cagey as you withdraw it from your bag. Make the whole thing seem dangerous and borderline illegal. Furtively sneak the innocent ibuprofen into your mouth, swallow it with a meaningful shudder, then put on your beast face. “Rrraaah!”
Younger guys will look on in awe. Some may ask you to hook them up too. Appraise their physiques, then tell them they’re not yet ready for this stuff. Simply walk away.
Tip number two…
Let’s talk eyesight. Certain equipment permits you to change the weight using a pin. Trouble is, you must also be able to read the tiny numbers beside the holes, an operation fraught with the peril of embarrassment.
No need to whip out specs – I’ve got you. Here’s what you do.
Approach the machine with the battered demeanour of Rocky after several tough rounds. If you get the reference, you qualify as the niche audience. Now lean your forehead against the rack, as though you’ve been pumping iron for hours. Feign defeat. And don’t worry, we’ll bring you back from the abyss.
At this proximity, those tiny numerals take up most of your field of vision. Squint until you find the right hole. Now for your hero moment. Draw back suddenly, as though you just dug deep and found a few more reps within you. Proceed with the workout. Et voilà. No one knows you’re blind as a bat.
Tip number three…
Wear a rugby cap. Oh sure, you’ve never played rugby a day in your life, but they don’t know that. The cap will magically transform limps, creaks and sprains into battle scars, and failed reps into badges of honour. Sure, you can’t get that weight up today, but it’s only because you tore your spleen in the scrum against Guernsey. Your body was broken for them.
Works every bit as well with a fireman’s cap. Drop vague hints about that inferno back in ’03. If they ask questions, say you don’t like to talk about it, but mutter, “At least I saved the children.” Feign a lingering smoke-inhalation cough and walk away.
Finally, tip number four,
the matter of cardio…
It is universally accepted that stepping off a treadmill drenched in sweat looks exceedingly cool. Ask any TikTok influencer. Yet achieving that effect requires 30 minutes of diligent jogging, and frankly, who has the knees for it?
Grab your water bottle. Fill it to the brink with hot tea. Two minutes of easy trudging as you sip your English Breakfast, and you’ll be dripping like a tap. No one took note of when you started, so the assumption will be that you’ve really pushed yourself today. Finish your tea, wipe dramatically at your sodden brow, and head home to the comforting embrace of your Voltarol gel.
I hope this helps.
And don’t let it bother you that Tom Cruise still looks and runs the way he does. Firstly, he probably doesn’t exist. Look at those teeth and tell me he isn’t a sophisticated AI.
And secondly, even if he is human, he likely made a deal with the devil for eternal youth, while you get to hang on to your soul, even as your body deteriorates into dust like that guy from the Indiana Jones movie. So, all told, you come out ahead.
Douglas Kruger is an author and speaker, who regularly limps to his local gym in St Helier. His books are all available via Amazon and Audible.
