It all started in August.
One day, at home, carrying my then two year old son up the stairs I realized that I was so out of shape that I physically could not actually carry him up the stairs safely. He was so heavy it took all of my strength to hold him and I was huffing and puffing. I stopped at the landing to rest, finished whatever it was he and I were doing, and promptly put on the only pair of running shorts I owned, along with my fifteen year old running shoes (hardly used), and drove straight to the gym while both kids were with their grandmother.
I signed up for a membership that day and have been going at least twice a week every week since.
“How was it?” my husband always asks.
“Ugh,” is always my response.
Don’t get me wrong. I love that I can actually hike mountains and go on adventures with my friends again (I was too embarrassed to even try last season). There was a time in my life (pre-kids, pre-NYC, pre-grad-school…) when people might have described me as “athletic” and “outdoorsy” and it feels good to resemble that description for the first time in a long time.
But I still hate the Gym. Here are just a few of my reasons:
- It’s indoors.
- It smells weird.
- It’s intimidating.
- It takes up time that I could be with my kids, or my husband, or writing, or being outdoors.
- It costs money.
- It is boring.
- My particular gym doesn’t even have my favorite machine–the rowing machine.
- I have a weird aversion to seeing people I know at the gym.
It feels like work to me, just a chore to be done. I think that’s why I’ve made it a routine to go right after school- it’s just an extension of the work day.
Actually that’s not totally true. I love my work. I do not love the gym.
But there is a silver lining — I’ve discovered comfy gym clothes. And now, instead of wearing my pajamas all day on the weekends, I wear workout clothes.
Oh yeah, plus, I’m getting healthy again.