IN THE PIT: Strength lives.
Bolsover Street is alive with the steel beasts, engines roaring and trilling until they are tamed with red raging to life. My purple Crocs carry me across the road to the pavement leading to my destination. I do not die despite my lack of road safety sense.
Tucked away on the second floor of Fitzroy Street is a gym. Between two buildings, black paint clings to the wall. There is a logo of a viper, yellow and red, entwining as it hisses at me. Its companion is a monochrome scene of practised Muay Thai: a man grappling with another soul, elbow striking as they cower.
Like the viper striking, red purrs into my sight: “Snake Pit Gym” written in red, and below—their services curl in upper case letters.
One door has long swung while beckoning to the humid air, and the endless noise of the main road. My shoulder is heavy with my camera bag, leaning forward under its weight. I have come here with my photography coach, nervousness coursing through my body in swift pulses.
The white arch, hollowed out on the right, is a shrine to a photo wall: smiles victorious and fists held to the sky, to strong legs in flight for something brave. Above the baseboard, posters litter the cream walls, and photos evoke nostalgia.
The stairs stretch above, to a hallway leading to a large room, fans blaring, but my first interest is the table tucked away. My camera soon leaves its coffin, lens attached, as I abandon my little black bag. The green strap clings to my neck, head craning as my gaze consumes the sight of gym rats.
We sit down and watch souls find salvation in the back’s collision with the rubber mats; sit-ups, and then push-ups while the body pours sweat. My fingers cling to my camera—anxiety, a merciless thing.
And here’s a secret: there’s bravery in trying and shedding the old cloak. There is no need to stay comfortable.
Each time I stand tall, to reach out to new people, I am seen and known differently. There is something precious in that. I would never have known this new version of myself if I had never tried.
Owners of Snake Pit.
The two owners of Snake Pit Gym are epic souls; ink twisting below flesh, black and then colour, something boldly courageous in their candour—with good hearts that are golden. They are beautifully bold and have a story that is beautiful.
The pit they’ve built, is one I feel safe in. Over time, I’ve found so much delight with seeing their fighters—humble souls. No fists exchanged between us, but rather smiles among exhaustion.
They are exhausted from training—I am exhausted from my wrist aching from the weight of my camera and seeing them in their element.
They inspire me.
Maybe one day soon, I’ll join them and grow the muscle in my legs once again.
