Frugal Feb: I don't pay for fitness.

Writing a blog was primarily about bringing the topics of conversation I have with people into a space where I can indulge the details to satisfactory depths; where ideas and theories can be healthily examined, explored, and, most of all, expressed, with newfound perspective, and all whilst inviting others to join and add value.

Thus far, the subject matter on this blog has centred around clothing, style and garment-making, but as sewing projects slow down, (and it's important to never rush these things, especially when they get tricky), I feel ready to bring other conversations I find equally interesting, and nourishing, into this space.

Most of these conversations are around sustainability and nutrition, budgeting and frugality, planning and organising, and learning to live more simply.

I have, thus, decided to resurrect an idea I'd had a while ago, about picking themes for each month to help explore these other topics, and share them in the hope that I may stay accountable on my path, reach my goals, and learn about myself and others along the way.

And so, without further ado, as we wrap up the first week of February, I've decided to explore my previously coined "Frugal February" mindset; diving in to the weird and wonderful things I do to create a beautiful and fulfilling life on a seemingly shoestring budget. In no particular order, I'll kick off with one of my frugal tactics, which is:

I don't pay for fitness.

Nature is free, non-profit and full of exercise oportunities.

What are you paying for?

Exercise has always been a pastime of mine. As a late adopter of driving, I was a longstanding pedestrian and often walked distances that many around me couldn't fathom. I always enjoyed it though, and still do.

In fact, I still maintain the habit of walking when I could otherwise opt to drive or take public transport, (or even use one of those electronic scooters to cover the walking distance of my work commute), but my motivation for doing so has shifted towards complimenting a more frugal, sustainable mindset.

In a previous life, I pursued my desire for fitness and movement by running on a home treadmill every single day. Some days I would cover about 5kms or so, but more often than not, the distances I'd reach were closer to 15-20kms, respectively.

It's fair to say, I ran a lot.

My solo running days were more about independent therapy sessions than they were the cardiovascular benefits I may or may not have been reaping. It was upon the wings of musicality that I untethered myself from the thoughts and feelings I was otherwise unable to delve into when stationary, or surrounded by the distraction of other minds.

I would put my earphones in, and as my feet made contact with the moving mat below, I was somehow able to assume the position of observer, as I took a conversation or experience I'd had and watched it take flight under the guidance of unmeddling examination and consideration.

There isn't much I didn't think about, during my running days.

But then my life changed, and with that came new priorities, new health goals, and shin splints that had me concerned about the impact such high intensity training was having on my body. With that, I succumbed, as I had done before, to the oft-hyped, mainstream mania that is gym membership, and fitness classes.

For $25 a week I had an all access pass to a concrete facility directly opposite the office, where I could participate in unlimited fitness classes, use the stationary machines and weights, and employ the advice and instruction of a personal trainer. I tried dance classes, strength training, and, my personal favourite, boxing.

My life changed again, though, and spending money every week, just for the opportunity to move my body, started to become too much. As circumstances have ebbed and flowed, I have considered and then reconsidered joining again, especially for boxing, but every time I consider such an expense, I am never moved to do it.

Why I don't pay for fitness

The stream we pass on our way to get groceries.

Every Saturday morning I walk 5kms pushing a stroller that hosts a near-20kg child; and half of that journey includes an additional 10kg+ of groceries. Though far too big and too old to be carted about like royalty, not only can my child not be expected to walk the 5km trip, but, she also plays a very important role in this excursion.

She is my resistance training.

I've traded in the megalithic structure that is the establishment over the road, with it's concrete exterior and bold coloured walls, for ferns, palms and native birds. The birdsong has become the new backdrop to my fitness, replacing the former bass of high decibel, cortisol inducing music blasting through the speakers, and only mildly competing with the unnaturally loud, overtly enthusiastic tones of the instructors, in each class, competing for attention.

The state of the art machines tracking my heart rate, guesstimating the calories I'm burning, and promising biceps and dancer's calves are now a thing of my past; replaced with a three-tyred pushchair complete with four year old attachment.

I maintain a pace that keeps my heart rate elevated, and I listen to my own choice of music; though sometimes I listen to a podcast or even a guided meditation. If you haven't tried walking meditation I highly recommend it.

I strive to remind myself of the importance to appreciate all that has been already created for me, instead of trying to create, and control, conditions all the time; and in such moments, I listen to the cicadas hissing and my daughter singing, and the trumpeting of bird calls.

It's a far cry from the echo chamber where, red-faced and wet-templed, the general public flock to sweat together.

And of course, my dry tones for the billion dollar fitness industry isn't without the ability to acknowledge that it does transform some people's lives. That I don't understand the appeal of the cacophony of yelling, grunting, whirring machines, weights crashing down to the ground, and of course, the dreadful music, is not to say that I don't understand what it achieves - especially when it comes to classes offering specific training and skills outside of a base level of fitness and elevated heart rate.

(I can read the news for an elevated heart rate...!)

I just don't like being marketed to, and I don't like paying for something that, with an able-body such as I have, (long may it last), and a lifestyle conducive to movement, ought to be enjoyed within my own means, and at no extra cost.

Isn't it within my basic rights to walk in freedom? I listened to a podcast about that.

Technique

My friend's yoga mat in my home office.

On the subject of classes and specific trainings, there's something to be said for having access to an expert, to assist with your posture and technique in a fitness class. I speak from the experience of being part of a women's gym and diligently attending yoga twice a week, run by a woman who looked old as the tradition itself. I could never have known just how close I was to full extension during one pose, until, as I lay on my back with my feet extended behind my head, she breezed past and nudged me with a gnarled finger to tip my body forward about an inch. There, my toes made contact with the floor beyond my head, and I perfected the pose into completion.

I could have never seen how close I was, without her.

All I could see were my knees.

By contrast, years later, I again joined the mainstream hype, this time with online yoga classes; run by someone doing the splits on a beach in Costa Rica, and offering free trials to otherwise very expensive classes all within the confines of my cramped bedroom. Contorted on the carpet, between table legs and bookshelves, I tried to follow along a series that promised I'd be able to do the splits in 30 days, but without someone correcting my postures and guiding me, I found it very difficult to stay focussed, motivated, and uninjured.

And that's without spending the money on all the add-ons I was being promised by the beautiful, eternally youthful blonde; like her e-books, cookbooks and other such lifestyle enrichments.

My resistance for being marketed to reminded me that this was all a business; and of course, people need to be able to have careers, earn a living and pursue their passion; but I craved the sort of experience I'd had previously, with my former yogi.

The gyms and classes I had attended since then paled by comparison.

The teachers were taped to mics, they had us chanting things without telling us what we were saying, and the room was packed wall to wall with yoga mats, lycra and more bodies than any single instructor could possibly nudge with gnarled fingers.

I missed the days were my yoga class was a series of bath towels, (seriously, nobody had their own yoga mats back then), and regular women in regular clothes - no matching lycra outfits stripped from the mannequins at Lululemon, but cotton sweat pants and t-shirts or tanks. And only about ten bodies in the class, tops.

Instagram wasn't a thing, back then, so yoga had yet to be taken to the Costa Rican heights of digital saturation, selling posture with green smoothies and an unexpressed promise of also looking good in a cropped top.

In short, paying for fitness started to feel like paying for a lack of honesty.

Discipline

I am not a disciplined person by nature. I have to work very hard on it. I used to run on my treadmill at home because I knew if I ran outside, I would probably run around the block, run to the store and buy something, and then just run home. I would also be able to find excuses. Wind. Rain. Traffic. Road works. You name it.

A treadmill at home meant I had the machine waiting, and there was no excuse other than my own motivation. Fortunately for me, it wasn't a chore to run, but a hobby. I've enjoyed running ever since I was a small child.

But I know self-motivation to work out isn't the strong suit of many, and that's why a gym membership can be so crucial. After all, you're paying for it whether you attend or not, right? So rather than just donate to the cause, you might as well redeem what it has to offer.

I still struggle with being disciplined on my walks when the wind picks up and the rain comes. Only heavy rain dampens, (sorry), my motivation to go. As I have a very sedentary job, I do feel an internal pull to move my body, and sometimes I wonder if that's from a lifelong trait of running and walking. It's something I have cultivated for decades - the desire and expectation within my cells to move, and exert excess energy.

Boxing is perhaps the only strong calling to return to a fitness facility, but it would have to be under the right circumstances. There's a discipline about boxing that speaks to me. It isn't about hitting things, or venting frustration. I'm not walking around with a desire to punch things, I am walking around with a deep-seated need to learn the true art of focus, stillness, and precision.

That said, just walking past a gym with posters of unnaturally muscular bodies, and pyramids of supplements and green smoothie powders, is enough to turn me off spending $25 a week for the sake of hitting a suspended bag accurately.

Make it something that you're already doing, anyway

Aside from the Saturday trip to the specialty stores, my daughter and I often make a shorter trip to the chain supermarket during the week, to trek down the gravel paths, and over the footbridge, to collect the things which sustain life.

In the office, I never use the elevator. I am an avid-stair climber.

Someone recently mentioned to me about not taking an able body for granted, which I felt was a very important thing to consider. Too easily we use our bodies without appreciation, but just as easily, and unappreciatively, we don't use them at all.

I might not have the sort of arms I dream of, but the push and pull of a stroller up and down hill, with 20kg of small human and an additional 10kg or more of groceries in the basket beneath, (and whatever I can manage to hang from my shoulders), is enough strength training for me. I feel it in my arms, my legs, and throughout my body.

As the pram appears to increasingly shrink beyond the rapid growth of youth, I will likely need to explore a new option of frugal fitness; perhaps simply a bigger backpack and longer grocery list.