At 50, I finally understand the film ‘Labyrinth’

I thought I was looking for Prince Charming

Some films stay with you long after the credits roll. For me, it was Labyrinth, the 1986 fantasy starring David Bowie and Jennifer Connelly. I watched it so many times that I wore out the video tape. Yes, an actual VHS cassette, back when watching a film involved a machine that tried to eat your entertainment.

I adored everything about it, from the music and the goblins to the impossible staircases and David Bowie in those really tight trousers. At the time, I thought it was a romantic adventure about finding Prince Charming. Watching it again at 50, I realised I’d missed the point.

My obsession even extended to my wedding day. While other brides took photographs from bridal magazines to their hairdressers, I took a picture of Sarah in the ballroom scene. I wanted those magnificent curls, even if achieving them took a few hair extensions. Sarah was a teenage girl trying to rescue her baby brother from Jareth, the Goblin King, encountering strange creatures, confusing directions and people who weren’t always what they seemed. Back then, I was distracted by the fantasy. Now I recognise something a lot less romantic: a woman trying to find her way through a situation that seemed determined to confuse her.

It involved a fitness qualification, a camera and an ability to help everybody else complete their assessments while avoiding my own.

My own labyrinth began in 2024

In 2024, I enrolled on a fitness instructor course. I love exercise, especially Zumba, Body Combat and anything involving a Scooter track, alongside an opportunity to punch the air. Studying fitness seemed a sensible extension of something I already loved, especially as I was becoming more interested in what my body could do more than what it looked like. I threw myself into the theory, achieved good results and completed around 80 per cent of the course during 2024 and 2025. I was genuinely interested in what I was learning and felt increasingly confident about the knowledge I’d gained and putting it into practice.

Then came the practical assessment videos. Despite exercising five or six days a week, understanding the material and regularly helping friends in the gym, I couldn’t bring myself to film my assessments. My body dysmorphia and imposter syndrome had other ideas. Suddenly, I wasn’t thinking about demonstrating exercises correctly, I was worrying about how I looked, whether I appeared competent and whether a woman of my age and build had any business becoming a fitness instructor. The camera had somehow become more intimidating than the qualification itself.

The absurd part was that while avoiding my own assessments, I helped two other people complete their fitness courses. I even appeared in their videos, demonstrating exercises and doing everything necessary to help them qualify. Apparently, I could face a camera perfectly well when somebody else’s qualification depended on it. When it came to my own, however, I found myself unable to take that final step. It wasn’t a question of ability, which made the whole situation even more frustrating.

When enthusiasm meets reality

My fitness course began with a lovely lilac notebook, neatly organised notes and bags of enthusiasm that makes you believe anything is possible. I enjoyed studying, particularly when I could lose myself in the detail, but what I hadn’t thought about was how difficult I would find the transition from learning privately to demonstrating my knowledge in front of somebody else. The theory allowed me to make mistakes without an audience. The videos needed me to put myself on display, and that was a different proposition.

Two years later, the course remains unfinished. My friends have offered to help, and H has reminded me how much we’ve spent on it. Meanwhile, I’ve found myself distracted by other interests, particularly my writing. In fact, rather than preparing those assessments, I’ve decided to write an article about Labyrinth and why I haven’t finished my fitness qualification. There is a ridiculousness to analysing your own avoidance while actively participating in it, but apparently that hasn’t stopped me.

My Goblin King was a camera

Jareth tempts Sarah with fantasy and distraction, offering her a world where she can forget what she originally set out to achieve. My villain was a camera on a tripod. It wasn’t the equipment itself that frightened me, but the prospect of being watched and judged. Somewhere along the way, I’d developed the belief that my worth depended on how well I performed. When I was helping somebody else, I could concentrate on the task. When the attention turned towards me, I was painfully aware of my body, my age and every possible mistake.

At 50, I’m trying to question that way of thinking. The woman who enrolled in 2024 wanted to learn something new and prove she could complete a qualification. I still want that qualification, but I no longer think it determines whether I’m capable or disciplined. There’s also something reassuring about Sarah’s companions, Hoggle, Ludo and Sir Didymus. She doesn’t go through the labyrinth alone, and I’ve spent enough time helping other people in the gym to appreciate that progress often involves somebody offering a helping hand. So maybe those assessment videos I appeared in were useful practice for my own.

You have no power over me

Towards the end of Labyrinth, Sarah finally confronts Jareth and tells him: “You have no power over me.” I’ve heard those words hundreds of times, but at 50 they sound different. My unfinished course isn’t evidence that I’ve failed, nor does my age, body shape or reluctance to appear on camera make me less qualified to pursue something I like. I still need to complete the assessments, of course. Unfortunately, David Bowie isn’t going to materialise in my living room and do them for me.

I just need to stop treating the camera as though it has the authority to decide what I’m worth. I spent years thinking Labyrinth was about finding Prince Charming, when the more useful lesson was about recognising when you’re standing in your own way. And I suspect Sarah would tell me to stop writing about it and get those bloody videos finished.

Occasional stories, experiments, discoveries and questions from Saffron & Cyrus.