The diary of almost everything

Somewhere around mid-February I made the very reasonable decision to start going to the gym, not for a man, not for a summer plan, not even because I suddenly developed a deep passion for lifting weights, but simply because I felt like it was time to do something for myself that involved a bit more structure and slightly less negotiation.

At the time, I remember very clearly stating that I was absolutely not going to become one of those people who measure protein intake, talk about macros, or casually drop terms like Romanian deadlift into conversation as if they were part of everyday language, because that was clearly not who I was going to be.

Fast forward eight weeks, and here I am, going to the gym three times a week, carefully aiming for around 110 to 120 grams of protein a day, occasionally holding a ready-made protein drink when time refuses to cooperate, and having actual opinions about something called mind-muscle connection, which still sounds like a concept invented by someone who wanted to make exercising feel philosophical.

The gym has not become my hobby, let’s be clear about that.
There is still not a single moment where I wake up thinking I cannot wait to go and lift things for fun, but there is something  satisfying about noticing that what I am doing is not entirely pointless, that my body is responding, that things are, in fact, changing.
Not in a way that turns me into a completely different person.
But enough to make me look in the mirror and think, okay, something is happening here.

My glutes, for example, which were never completely absent but also not particularly ambitious in their shape, have decided to participate in this process, and while I am not suddenly walking around with the kind of proportions that belong on fitness pages, I can see that they are more lifted, more filled, and generally more… present.

Which brings me to the issue.
Because there is, at the moment, a very clear difference between my left glute and my right glute, and I regret to inform you that my right glute appears to have developed a personality of its own.

On the left side, everything makes sense, there is a nice, continuous shape, a logical curve, a sense of cooperation between muscle and intention.
On the right side, however, there is what I can only describe as a slight interruption in the narrative, a moment where the shape begins confidently and then, halfway through, seems to reconsider its life choices before continuing again.
It is not a disaster and i think it is not something anyone else would probably notice. But I know it’s there!

And now that I know it’s there, I cannot unknow it.

This is how these things start.
Suddenly I am analysing my own glutes like a structural engineer, adjusting exercises, focusing on the right side first, adding extra repetitions, trying to convince my brain to communicate more clearly with a muscle that appears to be only partially interested in the conversation.

Pilates, which I still genuinely love, has become part of this investigation as well, because nothing reveals imbalance quite like lifting one leg while trying to keep your pelvis stable, and discovering that your body has a preferred direction that it did not think it needed to discuss with you beforehand.

It turns out that my right side is not only less cooperative, but also less stable, which is particularly impressive given the fact that it is technically my dominant side.
This feels like a betrayal.
At the same time, I have developed a surprising level of discipline when it comes to not letting my ego get involved, which means I am perfectly capable of lowering the weight when needed, focusing on form, and pretending that this was my intention all along.

I have also entered the fascinating world of food awareness, where I am now able to look at a plate and estimate whether it supports my goals or is simply there to make me happy, and while I try to keep things balanced, I refuse to become someone who eliminates joy from their diet entirely, because if there is one thing I am not willing to sacrifice, it is the occasional dessert that has absolutely no nutritional justification beyond being delicious.

I am not meal prepping or lining up identical containers for the next three days with neatly calculated protein counts, but I do make a weekly grocery list and I generally know what I’m going to eat, which means I make sure I get my protein in without turning my entire life into a planning exercise, even if I sometimes look at those perfectly portioned meals online and genuinely wonder how anyone manages to fit that amount of food into a workday filled with meetings, let alone eat it all at the right time.

The gym itself continues to be a place full of small observations, some of which I find deeply confusing, such as the collective inability of people to return weights to their correct place, which awakens a part of me that feels an almost irresistible urge to reorganise the entire room, because surely we can all agree that if you use something, you put it back where it belongs.

Apparently, we cannot.

The same applies to cleaning equipment after use, which I seem to be doing with a level of dedication that suggests I have taken on a role no one officially assigned to me, while others move on as if leaving behind a slightly questionable surface is simply part of the experience.
I have not said anything but I am thinking many things.

There is also the moment before trying a new exercise, where I stand still for just a little too long, mentally rehearsing a movement I have only seen online, waiting for the reassuring realisation that no one is actually paying attention, which, once confirmed, allows me to proceed with a level of confidence that would not have been available a minute earlier.

Progress, in many ways, is happening.
Not only in strength, or in shape, but in the small willingness to try, to adjust, to keep going even when something feels slightly off or mildly frustrating.

And perhaps the most unexpected part of all of this is that, somewhere along the way, I realised that I have had fewer migraines, that my body feels a little more stable, that my energy is slightly more consistent, and that something about this combination of movement, food, and rhythm is quietly working in my favour.

Which, if I’m honest, might be the most convincing reason to continue.
Even if my right glute still has opinions.

-Sophie Quinn