Sunday, October 7, 2012

I HATE the Gym

I have finally come to the conclusion that I can no longer eat junk food like a college student and process it with the metabolic rate of a 5-year-old.  After growing a tad bit soft around the middle (despite the scale readout, which remains the same as the day I graduated high school), I have reluctantly decided it's time to re-join the gym.  Yes, I said "re-join" in, I was a member for a month or two before, but I quit.  It was much easier for me to "quit the gym" than for Chandler Bing in one of my favorite episodes of "Friends."  Poor Chandler ended up going to the bank to cut them off at the source and ended up with a joint checking account with Ross.  (See, everything in life really does related to an episode of "Friends!")  In order for me to quit, I just have to quit going.  Maybe there's something to be said for that monthly fee automatically deducted from your paycheck.

The gym downstairs in the basement at work really is a nice, state-of-the-art gym, and it's located right by the exit to the garage, so there really is no excuse to skip.  Although forgetting my gym bag and workout clothes has lately been my most-used "excuse."  Whenever I pass the gym for the exit to the parking lot, I sometimes feel a small pang of guilt--but it's usually silenced by a detour to Tappy's Frozen Yogurt on my way home.  Then the guilt that returns is two-fold.

Well, I finally committed to another membership and have gone a grand total of three times in the past two weeks.  I tried yoga and discovered it was far more difficult that I expected.  I'm not flexible AT ALL, so the instructor's direction to bend over and touch my toes left my arms hanging awkwardly in the air far above my bare feet.  I did enjoy the 10-minute rest period at the end of the workout where we laid in the dark and focused on relaxing.  In fact, I thought I might be unable to drive home immediately after the class for fear I would fall asleep at the wheel!

When it comes to going to the gym, it is my belief that there are two types of people in the world: 1) those who admit their hatred for the gym and only go out of necessity and 2) those who declare their love for the gym (and who are coincidentally what I believe to be full of $#!%).  Let's face it--no one likes to go to the gym. Anyone who says otherwise is either showing off or is clearly in denial.  I feel like a hamster on a treadmill, and all those weight machines give me sore muscles the following day that I didn't even know I had!  Now every time I unwrap a candy bar, I'm left looking at the wrapper wondering, is this Snickers REALLY worth 40 minutes on the treadmill?! 

The fact remains that I love to eat.  It's seriously one of my favorite past times.  While I've been blessed with a high metabolism, I'm kidding myself if I think it will last forever.  The day it slows down is the day I'm in trouble if I don't jump start some healthy habits now.  That's why I decided to re-join the gym.  Like I said, I'm still just starting out, but hopefully, I can ultimately view it as a necessary life change that I will need to maintain forever--unlike a yo-yo dieter who tries Weight Watchers to lose 30 lb. for a high school reunion then falls off the ice cream wagon and returns to old habits soon thereafter.

I'm in this for the long haul.  So until they invent a pill that allows women to eat WHATEVER THEY WANT WITHOUT GETTING FAT, (which, ironically, is every woman's biggest wish), I'll be that hamster on the treadmill, sweating to stay in my current-size jeans.  I can still most likely be persuaded to meet you for frozen yogurt afterward, though!

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