I want to take a minute out of your undoubtedly busy, adventure filled and sexually charged lives to remember fondly a fallen friend.

I am talking, of course, about our recently lost but forever beloved Monday night east London indoor class at OLF.

I loved that place. I had never really meshed with the other indoor classes run by PKGen, mostly because they were so large and I get performance anxiety infront of so many people, as well as a passionate dislike of looking at myself in full length mirrors (I’m talking about you, Moberley, you reflective bastard). The smaller, leaner classes of OLF appealed straight away, as did the custom built indoor scaffolding and the rows upon rows of kettlebells. It seemed like a gym in the old fashioned sense of the word, where big men went to throw around lumps of iron and eat raw meat.

It was there that I learnt the value of indoor classes. As a controlled, mildly safer environment it allowed experimentation and exploration that could then be taken to other environments. It was never padded, or soft, but things were scalable and adjustable to all levels and intents. It was there that I first started to get to grips with rail precisions, something that has always been scary for me, even to this day. It was there that I learned to kong, and then split foot kong, and then do a kong precision. It was there that I did my first ever clean muscle up.

It was there that I learned that Blane is an evil, evil man who enjoys seeing pain in the eyes of others. Seriously. I think it nourishes him, like a fine steak.

It was the most consistent part of my training week and the part I looked forward to the most. I developed there more than anywhere else. Over time, things started to change, and the end was hinted at long before it came to be. The scaffolding came down to be replaced by an MMA fighting ring; our floor space was encroached upon; our equipment claimed for other classes while we still needed it. But while it lasted, I believe it was the greatest god damn gym in London, because we made it so.

Things change, and I’m sure whatever takes the place of OLF will only move us all onto bigger and better things. But for now, let’s shed a tear, raise a glass and swing a kettlebell, in honour of our lost comrade.