Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Since I went to Asia in December, I have made up every excuse in the book to avoid sweating. I would pack a gym bag everyday, carry it to work and then I would cough on a sip of water and think, "Oh God - with this asthma acting up like this it's best that I just sit here and eat some Doritos. I'll start back tomorrow!" Well, tomorrow turned into 3 months.
But, today - today was the day that I returned, and it was an epic fail. Firstly, my intentions were to use the elliptical for an hour - which really would have been 30 minutes at best - but then I forgot my iPod at home. I obviously can't be left with my own thoughts for that long so I almost cancelled, but no. I decided to take a Body Pump class. That's when sh!t got real.
So, I was 10 minutes too early which gave me just enough time to ponder a Big Mac but I stayed strong. I got my weights together and positioned myself towards the back of the class. As soon as the first track started and the overzealous instructor yelled, "Come on - we are CHANGING our bodies today!" I thought, "F this! I barely had the strength to change my underwear this morning." Begrudgingly though, I carried on through the class, watching women twice my age and half my weight squat, lunge and pump their way to mediocre.
As soon as the class ended, I ran straight for the locker room. I need to be honest - I hate locker rooms. I hate the smell, the people, the mirrors. I hate it all. But, there are two things I hate more than anything else. First, I hate the fact that this locker room has around 300 lockers and it never effin fails that the one guy who has a locker next to mine has the physique of Adonis. As my twig-like arms are fighting frantically to fit through the holes of my shirt before anyone can catch a glimpse of nipple-lodeon, he struts around bouncing nickels off of his abs. Even worse though is my second issue, and that is of the random guy who inevitably is rubbing his balls down like they have been soaked by Niagara Falls. Just wiping and wiping away as if they have been drenched by a personal crotch hurricane. Today, a man had his leg cocked (no pun intended) up on a bench and was just flossing away between his legs as if he were attempting to circumsize himself with the help of friction and a cotton-blend towel. As he continued to chat away with his buddies and chaff his inner thighs, I ran out and prayed for my eyes to un-see what they had just seen.
So now, after that stressful foray back into the jungle gym of insecurity, I sit here with a smile on my face that can only be due to the joy that comes from a stomach full of Whopper, fries and naturally, a Coke Zero. Will I go back to the gym? Yes, of course, I will. My membership was signed in blood, and there is a brand new taco shop opened next to it.