My husband has turned into a fitness fanatic. What can I do?

Mariella Frostrup, Sunday 27 March 2016 06.59 BST

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2016/mar/27/my-husband-turned-into-fitness-
fanatic-what-can-i-do-mariella-frostrup

The obsessive way a woman’s husband works out in the gym and at home is affecting both
their lives. Mariella Frostrup says it’s a modern phenomenon

The dilemma My husband of 10 years has become obsessed with fitness. He has always had
a fanatical nature, but the fitness phase is getting extreme. He’s at the gym twice a day –
swimming in the morning and again after work for up to two hours. Our living room is
cluttered with dumbbells and our small kitchen has been overtaken by tubs of protein (he
hides them when we have guests). He doesn’t have the time to help me around the flat and
he’s slashed sugar and carbohydrates from his diet, so I can’t cook anything meat-free or too
carby. As he’s leaving for a workout he jokes that he’s “off to get some self-respect” – but
now I think he actually believes it…

Mariella replies Now that’s a conundrum – although there are plenty who would prefer to
contend with your problem rather than their own slothlike husbands’ unhealthy lifestyles. It’s
hard to say: “You’re just too fit” in a way that does justice to your obvious frustration.
Whatever way I try it, the phrase trips off my tongue as a compliment and even perhaps a leer.

In an age when privileged humanity is battling against biology, putting enormous effort into
turning back the clock, pushing our bodies to their physical limits and trying to live for ever,
your husband sounds like a natural product of his time. Men’s magazines, once littered with
offensive examples of objectification, now barely bother with the female form, they’re so
busy objectifying their own sex. That once iconic bible to male testosterone Playboy recently
dropped the female full frontal, and I wonder if they’d fare better if they replaced their bunny
centrefolds with latterday Adonises, allowing readers a closer look at the glories of their own
male perfection.

James Bond (Timothy Dalton and George Lazenby apart) has maintained his pole position as
a world-class action hero because his creators have always managed to ensure each new
manifestation encapsulated the aspirational male attributes of the day. So take that journey
from rugged Sean Connery to the postmodern twinkle of perfect Pierce and then look at
Daniel Craig in his skin-tight suits and biceps bulging through his body-hugging handmade
shirts. With worship of the male form exceeding even Renaissance heights, this Bond is
definitely today’s man.

When I was a girl, a boy who even glanced in a mirror was considered suspect (David Bowie
excepted), whereas now, from an early age, they have to be prised away from them. The girls
in my daughter’s class are going through a braiding frenzy at present, but it’s nothing
compared to the hours of dedicated work the boys put in creating quiffs at perilous slants,
hairy homages to Table Mountain and further eye-catching examples of what you can do with
a full head of hair, imagination, a football annual and little else to take up your time.

Not since 1950s housewives used long hours with the stylist to stave off terminal boredom
have such exuberant crowning glories braved the high street. No wonder boys aren’t doing as
well as girls academically: they’re way too preoccupied with their hairstyles. Which is sad
really, because you’d have hoped that the journey to a more equal world would have seen
both sexes embrace the best of the opposite sex, not the worst. Instead of women adopting the
more relaxed approach to personal grooming favoured by centuries of men, what seems to
have happened is that men have fallen hook, line and sinker for the beauty industry. Pomaded
and lacquered, buffed, bronzed and toned to within a hair’s breath of caricature and beyond,
the seduction of the male of the species by the most frivolous of human concerns seems a
done deal. It’s been a salutary lesson in human nature to see sensible men slipping to such
superficial lows, but then again I don’t own a gym or a male-grooming range.

What contemporary men share with the housewife of yesteryear is time to kill. You can only
hoover the front room so many times, as those Valium-popping domestic goddesses knew
only too well. Today’s male, with the responsibility of earning a livelihood at the very least
halved, and with his female counterpart in most cases still doing all the domestic chores, is in
no doubt looking for something to keep himself busy. My suggestion would be to stop with
the drudgery of those meat-heavy, carb- free meals, the admin and the housework and liberate
yourself from playing tertiary industry to your iron-pumping husband and see if that shakes
him from his “self-respecting” reverie. If he doesn’t quit the body building when you’ve
withdrawn all facilitating services, then you know he’s a lost cause until he signs up for
weightlifters anonymous. Spending protracted time at the gym is no sin so long as you’re
pulling equal weight at home. Anything else is a deal breaker.