I recently joined a gym.
Those who know me probably just either a) went to lie down before the dead faint hits, or b) went to call their mother, for surely the apocalypse is at hand.
I so very much hate the gym. It’s a terrible smelly place, I have to leave my house to get there, then I feel totally self-conscious while I force my body to do things it does not want to do. The only thing worse than the gym is Satan’s Punishment, also known as Running, which is Evil. But going to the gym for a “workout” is only one small step down from that.
I joined this one because a) it’s attached to Sir Monkeypants’ work, so it was cheap, so if (ha! WHEN) I stop going, we won’t be out that much money, b) Mrs. Carl Sagan goes there, and she offered to email me weekly with a “Get your ass to the gym, and I will see you there” gentle threat, which is suprisingly effective, and c) I was close to turning into a human jellyfish.
So I’ve been three times now, and it’s as horrible as you might expect but I’m surviving. Today was my third visit and I was late, which is THE WORST. You have to go in there when the class is already in session, and get all your equipment and then struggle to find a free bit of floor space, while everyone stares at you and thinks MY GOD SHE IS SO FAT IN THOSE YOGA PANTS. (Possible projection on my part, brought on by GIANT MIRRORS that seriously, must be from a funhouse, yes?)
I was late because there is approximately 500 separate areas of construction between my house and the gym, and a drive that should have taken me 10 minutes actually took close to half an hour, including two detours, several complete stops in traffic jams, and three different locations where cops were directing people through. GAH. I thought a) summer was the construction season, and b) someone somewhere would have the sense not to book every single project for the exact same time.
And of course, I had left leaving to the absolute last possible second, even though I knew about (most of) the construction, because it’s sooooooo haaaaaard getting up off the couch to go to the gym, and really, there’s always time for just one more YouTube video, and also, how can I be expected to make it through the class without a little sugar-and-gluten-based snack, and I can’t possibly leave without my favourite water bottle, no not THAT ONE, the OTHER ONE.
So I was late, then I was cranky, then I worked out, and then I was more cranky. But Mrs. Carl Sagan was there, and she was cheerful, and the body pump instructor was also nice and did not single me out in any way (because that basically means CERTAIN AND IMMEDIATE DEATH), and after an epic half hour journey home I may, just may, have time for a quick hot shower and another round of tea and cookies (guilt-free!) before picking up my kids, and that’s all good.
So I shall stop whining, and embrace the lovely fall day, and celebrate my freedom from the dreaded gym for another week. Triumph!