Things I’ve Learned at the Gym: The Kettlebell

Blasted little bugger...
Blasted little bugger…

Dear Kettlebell,

Let’s just get this out of the way: I hate you.

Why is it that in a gym full of large, intimidating machines that look like they could cause some serious damage to my person, that you, essentially a fancy metal ball with a handle on it, are the most awkward, rage inducing piece of equipment there?

Maybe it’s that stupid way you manage to throw me off balance every time I attempt to use you.  Perhaps that’s the point, and you’re supposed to force me to keep my balance, but you don’t see the barbells doing that, do you?  Noooo, they actually like to make sure that I don’t end up feeling like I’m about to topple over.

Maybe it’s your shape.  Your bulbous body never wants to cooperate, and I’m terrified that I’m going to end up bludgeoning myself if your handle slips or you swing in just the wrong way.

Maybe it’s the fact that you just don’t feel good.  Sounds weird, I know, but it’s true.  I can’t get comfortable trying to use you.  Not just because you’re heavy – or seem heavier than a barbell, even though you might be the same weight – but because I can’t find the right way to hold you.  Even with that handle of yours, I can’t seem to make you and me work.

Or maybe you’ve got the unfortunate roll of the dice in that all the excercises that my trainer makes me do with you are extremely awkward.  Like squats, otherwise known as That Exercise I Refuse to Do Alone Because They Look Stupid.  Or attempting to roll a deadlift, a squat, and a press all together.  But you don’t help.  You don’t help at all when you slam into my arm or dig into my shoulder.

This could be entirely my fault, though.  Maybe I’m too lazy.  Maybe I’d rather be doing something else at the gym and I haven’t gotten to know you better, to feel you out and see if I actually make you work for me and my physical wellbeing.  Maybe we just got off on the wrong foot that very first time I picked you up.

Just maybe.

In the mean time, yes, I will use you whenever my trainer – who swears by you and seems to think you’ll cure everything in life – wants me to.  And maybe in the future, we could be friends.

Until then, though, you can kindly sod off.



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The Head Walrus himself, so to speak.

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