In high school, my sister and I would get a kick out of walking back and forth in front of the window of “Work Out World” – as we called it – with pastries in our hands. As the rows of bicycles and steppers were full of people trying to either lose weight or just stay in shape, we, in our thin youthful arrogance, thought this was quite an entertaining little game from time to time. And that was as close as I got to a gym until well after college.
I have, since moving to New York City, had a gym membership twice. The first time was for six months then, since I never went, not even once, I thought I’d renew my membership for more three months. Again, although my roommate at the time and I, did go through the effort of putting on our gym clothes, we usually ended up stopping for margaritas on the way to the gym. So yeah, the gym and I have never really met – except for the day I registered, and the day I renewed my useless membership.
There’s one two blocks away from my apartment, and although I no longer walk by with pastries – I’m mature now – I do notice those sweating away inside and am quite certain they’re all a bit mad. I’m not saying I don’t exercise. I do yoga (sometimes), and run (even less than the ‘sometimes’ I do yoga). Frankly, I enjoy saying “I’m going for a run,” more than I enjoy the actually action. Call it laziness, or call it, um, laziness – I guess I’m just lazy. I try to only run when I’m being chased, even then it’s more of a quick strut.
So working in an office of all women, most of whom have this need to workout and eat only green things, it’s sometimes easier to just play the game. When someone says they’re going to the gym, I claim I am, too. If someone has told me they went to a 7am Pilates class, guess what? I’ve gone, too!
I sit at my desk, stretch my arms over my head and sigh loudly and dramatically.
Me: “Oh! That workout did a number on me! I did so many squats, my femur aches.
Coworker: Your femur is a bone. How could that ache?
Me: I mean my pecs. Yeah, my pecs are totally burning.
Coworker: Why would your pecs ache from squats?
Me: Because I did that many, that’s why. Are you judging how much I over exert myself at the gym everyday? You know, I don’t think I should be judged for my obvious commitment to health and wellness. I’m sorry if you don’t understand the importance of being fit. You know, let’s just drop this. In fact, I don’t want to talk about my gym habits with you again. And FYI, you could use some sit-ups.
I find that in keeping my habits, both the real and fake ones, to myself, I’m more likely to avoid questions. Oh, look at the time… I should really head to the gym.