Forwards and occasionally sidewards – everyday musings of life

Despite ‘change management’ having been my actual career for many years, I felt distinctly uneasy about the changes made at the gym last week. Word had reached me that equipment had been rearranged to make room for shiny new machinery.

I stuck rigidly to my usual pre-gym routine: music—check; water—check; gym pass—check; mental composure—not checked. Why on earth was I so unsettled by a simple layout update? I found myself worrying whether my favourite machines would still be there, where they’d been moved to, and how on earth the new kit worked. Filled with quiet trepidation, I left the house early for my warm-up run.

My head really wasn’t in the right space. I arrived outside the gym far too early, leaving me with nothing to do except pace up and down the pavement, trying to peer through the tinted windows like a suspicious character to suss out the new floor plan.

When my usual gym companions arrived at a much more sensible time, I faced a dilemma: do I mention the big reshuffle, or play it cool? Seeing that no one else was making a fuss, I opted to play it entirely nonchalant—carefully concealing the fact that I’d left the house twenty minutes early in a desperate bid to scout out the premises.

In the end, I needn’t have worried. My usual go-to equipment was easy to locate, the new machines looked sleek (if capable of inflicting significantly more physical anguish), and the open layout actually felt far roomier. I quite liked the update—except for one monstrous piece of kit lurking ominous in the corner.

This machine towered above everything else in the room. It stood mighty and threatening, casting a shadow over the weight rack. I noticed other gym-goers actively steering clear of it, accelerating their pace as they walked past.

Then, one of our regular gym buddies, Elaine, bravely stepped up to climb aboard. The gym fell dead silent. We all watched with bated breath as she began pressing glowing buttons and pulling safety levers.

I’m fairly certain the ceiling lights flickered and dimmed as the beast roared to life. Massive electric motors whirred into action, and no one dared speak as Elaine clung onto the handles for dear life. The endless steps began revolving, rapidly gathering speed as the engine settled into a terrifying, rhythmic hum.

This almighty StairMaster propelled Elaine towards the ceiling, forcing her to climb at a relentless pace or risk being flung across the room like a catapult payload. After a slightly judderingly start, she smoothly settled into her stride. The room collectively exhaled, returning to their routines. Elaine had officially tamed the monster.

Having spent decades working in high-rise city offices and staying on the top floors of hotels, I know from bitter experience that climbing stairs never actually gets easier. I used to force myself to take the stairs as a fitness discipline, and it was pure agony every single time.

Now that we live in a single-storey bungalow, I rarely encounter a staircase at all. If I ever decide I truly want to torture myself, I might brave the stair monster one day. But not today.

That would be one change management project too far.