I did it. I joined the gym. Finally. It took me over a year of living in the city to join the gym that is in my building. Yeah…IN MY BUILDING. Over a year. In my building.
I went up to register and the, uh, main gym guy asked me if I was new to the building.
Uh, well I just resigned my lease?
He gave me a curious look. I could only respond with:
Yeah…it took me a year to join the gym.
Okay, well, you still get the new residents membership then!
Great. So I got a discount. But I didn’t let it slide, head gym guy, that you totally judged me for taking this long to join the gym.
But I did it. I joined it. And I actually went last night. Granted I forewent (is that really even a word?) the main room, with the glass ceilings and the pretty view in a favor of a less populated area to work out.
No, not my apartment.
I went to the scrub machines. The ones they hide in the hallway (but that still have the good view). I’m pretty sure these are technically “overflow” machines. But for me, they were “I haven’t been to the gym in about a year and a half and I should probably not make my debut in the main gym with the athletic folk” machines.
And I stayed there. For almost 45 minutes. And I sweat (sweated? swat? why doesn’t “sweat” sound right as the past tense of “sweat”?).
And I almost fell off of the elliptical.
But I’m going back.
Maybe not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow night.
But I’m going.
I won’t let them judge me.