So this
blog’s name is ‘Little Things We Stumble On’. Supposedly it’s meant to talk
about things that popped up and unexpectedly sparked an interest while it
mostly has been about my thoughts on things that I intentionally care about. Well,
no more! I am getting things back on track and talking about things I never
considered I would consider, like the gym. But I’ve taken some adjustment
measures so it is not that different to my regular posts; it is mostly
complaints, and lyrics guide the experience!
Hello, it’s me. I was wondering if after all
these years you’d like me to exercise
(personality
profile alert)
Why would I
have never guessed I would talk about the gym? Because I am a lazy,
procrastinator that doesn’t care much for it. Let me elaborate on the laziness
issue; the gym I was enrolled in for four years (for free) was a 15 minute bus
ride and the bus station was right outside my house. Let me further elaborate
on the procrastination issue; even though I had free membership for four years,
I finally joined four years later, when it had expired. It might sound like I
am exaggerating but you know you’ve abstained for too long when you tell your
friends you started working out and they are genuinely shocked. Now I go daily
because I know that if for a day I don’t break a single sweat, but instead eat
chips and watch an entire season of Mad Men there is no way of convincing
myself to go back. That life is too good!
When I see a buff man, I see a liar
(subjective
opinion generalized alert)
I have
spent numerous discussions with gym enthusiasts about how when you get into it,
you love it; you would never give it up! Liars! Filthy liars! You would,
everyone would! If you could look fit and lined by sitting on the couch and
writing blog entries then that is what you would do. If the gym was fun and not
a hellish exchange for good health and looks then treadmills would not have a
timer or a calorie meter; you would just run until you started feeling
euphoric. I, for one, need to know how much longer I need to stay on it so as to
not feel guilty. The truth is you get happy when you see change in your body or
when you feel that certain cramp and predict a change in your body, which makes
it an indirect satisfaction. A direct satisfaction is your taste sensors
encountering sugar, or in my case, cheese. Sports and outdoors jogging is
different; I will accept it is somehow incomprehensibly possible to enjoy a
good basketball game or running out in the clean air because I enjoy dancing
(the artistic way of exercising) therefore some activities that result in
fitness can be pleasing, but it is a mere few.
Conversation has run dry. That’s what’s going
on, nothing’s fine I’m sore.
(antisocial
alert)
This is
something I only knew to be a myth; making friends at the gym. I do not
understand how that works. What do you talk about? How long do you talk about
it? I was approached about four days ago by a girl in a gym class and we had a
nice, polite conversation about the class, about whether it constitutes Pilates
or a stretching session which lasted for a good 90 seconds. And just when I
thought that would be it she suggests we ‘keep in touch’ and asks me when I
will be in again! And, in turn, I ask you, what grounds for a ‘keep in touch’-ness
did she have? What was the common ground
that made me a potential acquaintance? Well, I could investigate but I was in
real pain from the session and therefore do not remember face or name.
Stacey’s mum has got it going on, she can lift
all she wants and her biceps are strong
(ageism
alert)
This is a
terrible blow to my self esteem every single time. Rumour has it that in your
twenties, you should be at your fittest with good stamina. While I can easily
accept that I am not fit for my age it is a very interesting realization that I
am not fit for any age. Blow number one; there was a lady clearly in her late
sixties that finished a 1-hour Zumba class when I had died after 35 minutes and
indicated movement for the rest of the class. Blow number two; I was stretching
after my fast-paced walk on the treadmill (it is a disgrace to call that
jogging) and a similarly aged woman was coaching/showing her 12-year-old
grandson how to exercise his side abs for intergalactic boxing sessions! This
was obviously Stalone’s stunt double in her youth. I feel nothing but respect,
envy and awe for these women, whereas I am looking forward to get to that age
so I can write off working out for life!
Closing time, I don’t have to go home, I have
to go to the nearest hospital
(conclusion
alert)
I am of
course in the wrong, after all there is scientific evidence that exercising
excretes pheromones that make you happy and dopamine and adrenaline and all
that chemical crap. Plenty scientific evidence, no personal experience but what
can you do. But I’ll subvert my attack to working out to gyms in particular
with a single argument; you would not suggest to go to the gym to a friend in
order to have more fun than any other place, you would suggest to go to the gym
with a friend in order to make the place more tolerable than it would be.
Therefore, not fun. The end.
