What I’ve just heard about Lachie Neale’s brazen affair proves a sad fact about married women. Sorry, husbands, you won’t want to hear this… AMANDA GOFF

It wasn’t a tryst in a seedy hotel room, nor was it a quickie in a disabled toilet. It wasn’t even a drunken fumble at a party.

No, it appears the place where former Brisbane Lions captain Lachie Neale ignited his affair with his wife’s best friend Tess Crosley was at – drumroll, please – the gym.

I know, I know, you’re forgiven for being shocked.

After all, isn’t the gym a place of virtue? Where people are supposed to work hard to become the best version of themselves, not destroy their marriages?

For some, perhaps, it’s a modern-day temple of self-improvement – a place to sweat away minor sins, sculpt glutes, tone arms and hone discipline. 

Typically, we leave the gym feeling happier (and a little smugger) than when we arrived, having ticked off our physical health goals for the day.

Well, some of us do, anyway. 

Others, it would seem, use the gym for an entirely different purpose. 

For Lachie and Tess, it appears they may have used their local gym to secure secret time together, away from the prying eyes of their respective spouses.

Though, according to one gym-goer, that time was perhaps not quite so secret after all.

In their words, Lachie was so openly affectionate with Tess by the weight machines that they assumed he and wife Jules had quietly separated and he was single.

A slick reporter at News.com.au eventually worked it out.

On December 7, Tess shared a sultry selfie from the plush changerooms at Total Fusion in Newstead, in Brisbane’s urban‑swanky inner-north.

Meanwhile, Lachie featured on the gym’s Instagram page, spruiking his favourite workout. Though, one wonders, which ‘workout’ he means…

An innocent coincidence?

Hardly, when one considers the dumpster fire that followed and the eyewitness account suggesting the brazen pair were acting like a pair of giddy teenagers in between sets.

While you might be shocked, dear readers, this old hack is not – and I’ll tell you why.

Allow me to let you in on a little secret – one that will leave husbands quaking in their boots: married women don’t always walk into the gym to tighten their adductors.

Yes, they may want to tone their muscles or burn stubborn fat. But they also know that the brand-new, sexier version of themselves they’re working so hard to achieve is going to turn the heads of the hunky, fit male gym-goers with one eye on the dumbbells and the other on the steady influx of married MILFs in skintight activewear.

Honestly, I can hardly blame them.

These mums have often ‘let themselves go’ after years of putting their families first. They’ve missed the morning workouts to prepare school lunches, and evening sessions are out of the question because of meetings and bedtime routines.

At first, they think it doesn’t matter: their husbands come home late, pay them little attention, show minimal appreciation for all their sacrifices, and then have the audacity to fart in bed.

What does it matter if they’ve put on a few kilos? 

But then, as the kids get older and these women get their time back, there’s something else they often want to reclaim. They crave the fit body they used to have. They want to feel sexy again. Desired.

The return to the gym isn’t about starting an affair. Not at first. 

But suddenly, they’re surrounded by fit men with bulging muscles, who are driven and disciplined. Men who look like they come home and ravish their women, instead of scratching their arse and asking, ‘What’s for dinner, darl?’

Don’t believe me, husbands? Let me tell you a little story then. 

I’m not going to name names – I’m certainly no snitch – but I met a lady once at a gym I used to frequent in Bondi Beach. Blonde, toned, early 40s, married. I was in awe of her stamina on the stepper and how she commanded the weights room instead of standing in the corner feeling intimidated as I often did. 

And she looked absolutely banging in Lycra. 

We struck up conversation one day and I asked her what her motivation was. That’s when she confessed: she was there for the men.

She loved them younger and while she had initially joined the gym for her health, it was her renewed sex life that kept her coming back. 

She admitted to me she’d bedded ‘quite a few’ of the younger patrons and her husband had no clue. There he was thinking how lucky he was to have a wife who took care of her body, and she was using it to lure younger, hotter men into the sack.

It takes much to surprise me, yet I was genuinely shocked.  

‘At the gym? Really.’ Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had gym crushes. Haven’t we all? Don’t they make the workouts slightly less tedious?

But I’ve never taken it further. I have a rule: never s**t where you eat – that goes for the workplace but also the gym.

Clearly, my weights-room buddy felt differently. She exposed me to the not-so-secret world of gym affairs. When I told my girlfriends, they just nodded, utterly unsurprised.

One even said it was the easiest way to cheat. After all, it’s the perfect camouflage. 

If a woman is at the gym, no one raises an eyebrow. If she’s there for a long time, all it means is she pushed herself. If she comes home flustered and heads straight for the shower, that’s just a workout… right?

And let’s be honest, most husbands are glad their wives are going, knowing they’re going to reap the rewards in the bedroom. 

What they don’t know is, they’re not the only ones.  

Spare me any outrage. I’m merely pointing out an uncomfortable truth.

It works both ways, too. Spare a thought for the wounded wives here.

How was Jules supposed to know what Lachie was really up to? She was married to a professional footballer – an extra hour at the gym was hardly going to set off alarm bells, was it?

(For what it’s worth, I’ve seen photos of Jules in activewear and she’s obviously no stranger to the gym herself – though, clearly, she exercises more self-restraint than her husband…)

I’ve got more receipts about gym affairs, if anybody wants them.

In my former life as Samantha X, l lost count of the number of male clients who confessed to me their wives’ affairs with personal trainers. 

One poor gentleman, whom I’ll never forget, told me how his ex-wife ended up running away with the PT he booked for her birthday.

And before I’m flooded with angry comments, remember this: I’m not demonising women who want to keep fit, mocking husbands, or trying to say that all gyms are dens of iniquity.

But let’s not ignore the inconvenient truth staring us in the face. 

Men bonk their secretaries; women cheat at the gym. That’s just life – and there really isn’t much that can be done about it.

Convincing your wife to cancel her gym membership would be like a woman telling her husband to quit his high-paying job. It ain’t gonna happen. You have to live with it.

That’s why I’ll say it again: husbands should be quaking.

Because for many wives, joining a gym isn’t just about fitness. It’s about discovering that all that sweating, stretching and grunting is a portal to something sexy and illicit. It’s right there, flexing in front of the mirror, if she wants it…

I’m not saying Tess or Lachie went to the gym looking for an affair. I doubt they did. I’m simply saying that most affairs don’t start in hotel rooms. 

They begin with friendship, emotional closeness, and innocent conversation. They blossom during those rare breaks from domestic monotony, where their spouses aren’t there to supervise.

They begin in places like the gym. 

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