I would like to discuss how much I truly hate going to the gym. And I'm fully aware that blogging about one's disdain for exercise is equal on the pathetic scale to walking around wearing a sandwich board that says, "I'M A GIANT VIRGIN!" but whatevs. It's good to embrace our flaws.
Why I hate the gym:
- Sports bras are not comfortable. And guess what? I have to wear three. That's right, three. I have to triple-bag it. Because I REFUSE to be That Girl who's boobs are moving at an entirely different rate than the rest of her body. REFUSE.
- I don't pull-off gym clothes well. You know that girl in the cute pair of Soffe shorts, wearing a cute tank and only one sports bra with her hair up in a messy ponytail? Yea, that's not me. I, for lack of a better word, look like a raging bull-dyke compared to that girl.
- I don't like being warm and I don't like sweating. I realize that nobody is all, I'M SWEATING! HOLY SHIT, THIS IS AWESOME! But I still feel like it's worth mentioning. I'm like a bottle of fine white wine: best served when chilled. I keep my apartment at an offensively chilly 52-degrees at all times. Being uncomfortably cold is my definition of comfortable, so I don't get amped at the thought of spending an hour in the human sweat box that is the gym. I'd much rather sit in my igloo and workout vicariously through an episode of The Biggest Loser. It's half as effective and twice as entertaining.
- Speaking of entertaining, I get so ungodly bored at the gym. I've tried everything: listening to music, watching TV, watching a movie, talking to a friend, trying the bike with the interactive "you're cycling through the Andes!" screen thingy—nothing works! It's just an hour of me thinking, "Well, this sucks. Yep, still sucks. How much time has passed? Oh, 30 seconds. Welp, that sucks. This moment right now? Christ it sucks." I need to find a way to not be conscious of the fact that I'm working out, but still able to workout. Which means, I essentially need to roofie myself into going to the gym. That's a strong statement...
- GLANCERS. Alright, look: I'm lazy and don't have a ton of confidence in my physical abilities. This is to say, I don't like physical competition. Therefore, oh person on the machine next to me, STOP GLANCING AT MY MACHINE TO SEE WHAT LEVEL OF RESISTANCE I'M ON AND HOW MANY CALORIES I'VE BURNED! Here's the answer to both questions: a lot lower than you and a lot less than you. At any given minute of "our" workout, that's what's going on. You're winning. You people stress me out beyond belief. I have the strength and stamina of a sea lion and yet after working out for five minutes next to you people, I'm running at a 7.5 level on a 45-degree incline. You can casually glance at me while I'm going into cardiac arrest. Asshole.
- I have no time for people with eating disorders. Is that statement slightly insensitive? Yes. Is it still true? Yes. You have me over for dinner and serve a teaspoon of brown rice and make me feel like the fat kid when you can't finish yours. Then I have to remind myself that you're the weirdo, not me. And it feels like every time I go to the gym, I'm sandwiched between a Glancer and the gym's Token Anorexic/Over-Exerciser Chick. You know who I'm talking about. She's at your gym too. She's always just a little too skinny and working out a little too hard. And has been for the past four hours. And is always at the gym when you are, no matter what time of day you go. I was working out last week next to this skeletor who was loudly moaning and gasping for air she was cycling so hard. I'm all for pushing yourself and feeling the burn, but this was just some straight-up after school special health class movie-shit. I couldn't stop thinking, if she were to have a heart attack and collapse right now, would I give her mouth-to-mouth or gracefully bow out and assume somebody else will handle it? Although kudos to her, because weighing those pros and cons was a nice distraction from thinking about how much this sucked.
- I hate running. And I hate that I hate running. I have runner-envy. Runners just seem like superior people and I wish I could join their ranks. Unfortunately the fervor with which I despise running is impressive. I would rather write 30 cover letters than than run for 30 minutes. (Yea, that much.) I hate when you're out in a big group and two people realize they're both runners and start to talk runner-talk and share their stats and shit. I polished off a Stromboli yesterday, anybody wanna talk about that? My sister is a runner and one of my favorite past times is to cruelly diminish her running achievements. I like referring to her 10Ks as "turkey-trots," and her half-marathons as "fun-runs." Nothing levels the playing field like, "Oh yea! Your turkey trot is coming up! I should go for a jog sometime too..." It's cruel and obviously comes from a place of pure jealousy, but good lord it cracks me up!
Bitching and moaning aside, it's time to get in shape and start going to the gym regularly. It's gotten to the point where I wouldn't even hook up with myself, and I already know what a great personality I have. My problem is I lack motivation and discipline. I hate when people tell me, "but you feel so good after you go to the gym!" Because, I don't. I feel disgruntled and sweaty after I go to the gym. And all I can think about is how I have to do that all over again in less than 24 hours. And that depresses me. BUT NO MORE! From here on out, I am instituting Operation Oh Hey, Fat Ass—Go to the Gym! (OOHFA—G2G!) Here's my plan: I get off my fat ass and actually go to the gym. Genius, right? OK, now I need to find motivation. Now motivate me. GO!