The last time I bought a pair of trainers must have been about 10 years ago. I thought they were quite cool then, "cool" as in fashionable as opposed to air-conditioned. They still look pretty new to me, having been used about a dozen times for tennis and about the same for trips to the gym. But oh, no. My new personal trainer, Dan Harrison at U Concept, Dubai, eyed them with faint amusement. Like everything else, trainer technology has moved on. If I didn't want to damage my ankles and knees, I should buy some new ones, specially made for the purpose.
Dan's own trainers seemed to be made in two parts with a sort of bridge in between. The bit under the ball of his foot slopes upwards towards the toe, not a particularly good look for women, but then what do I know about gym wear? Dan pointed out the difference between my old trainers and his and I could see that it was something akin to the difference between a Formula One car and my battered old Ford Ka.
Come to think of it, my feet were all blistered after my first session in the gym, although that might have been because I forgot my socks, but I had to agree that my trainers did feel clumpy. I had already invested in an outfit to wear to the gym. When I put on my old grey tracksuit bottoms and vest I could see that it just wasn't going to work, and although I drew the line at Lycra, I thought I looked as if I meant business when I turned up in my new charcoal Reebok lightweight cut-offs and matching stretchy workout top - you can't call them T Shirts these days.
Ten weeks of cutting fat out of my diet has seen me drop an entire dress size. Every week I visit the tailor's shop, Stitches at The Village, Jumeirah, which also houses the U Concept gym, with items to be taken in but I hadn't thought about shoes until now. So it was back to the mall for a bewildering trawl through what seemed to me as an endless array of shoes. I had to remind myself that this was just another phase of my current voyage towards a lighter, trimmer, toned-up me. Psychologically, I was going to have to invest in a new pair, if only to underline to myself my commitment to something that does not give me a great deal of pleasure.
Faced with racks of terrifying-looking trainers stretching up to the ceiling, I didn't know where to start. The first pair I picked out, light, slim and red, turned out to be casual fashion shoes. So what were they doing in a sport shop, I asked, and the assistant just shrugged. There were shoes for walking and a different type for running. You can wear the running shoes for walking but not vice-versa. Then there were some that are OK for running on a treadmill but not outside. Would you believe they even make trainers for driving and for what the assistant described as "adventure". Did he mean daredevil stuff like rock climbing?
No. you need an altogether different type of shoe for that. Running shoes seem really ugly to me, so I opted for the lightweight trainers for use in a gym. After 40 minutes of discussing the various merits of gel inserts in the soles and "playday" material that dries quickly, it turned out they didn't have my size, but at least I now know what I'm looking for. I thought wistfully of my school sport days when I had won the Victrix Ludorum in an old pair of what we used to call "gutties". They were brown canvas with a thin rubber sole and I loved them so much that when my big toes eventually peeped through the material, I cut out the fronts and wore them on the beach clambering over rocks. But of course they even have special shoes for that these days.
My second session with Dan left me gasping for breath, begging for mercy and seriously contemplating failure. It had taken my muscles four days to recover from the first mild workout, but that proved a doddle compared to the second. It was straight onto the running machine, set to a slight incline for five minutes and then I was introduced to weights and pulley contraptions. Whew, I can hack this, I thought with relief, until he made me go through three exercises again and quicker. I found myself shouting "10, 11, 12!" as I forced myself to finish the set. More floor exercises saw me swinging my legs and arms into positions that they haven't reached since junior school gym class. I finished up with five minutes on the rowing machine.
"Do you feel the burn?" Dan asked me. "I'm not sure that I feel anything," was my reply. "My body is in a state of shock." For the moment, everything seizes up when I sit down and I'm walking with the rolling gait of a sailor or a very old crone. It may be some time before I walk like a normal person again. @email:pkennedy@thenational.ae
