So 2 more days before the weekend and I find myself at the gym once again.  I must say, before I go on, that the gym and I have formed a like-love-sometimes-hate-but-otherwise-fulfilling relationship in the last year.  May I add that I've never been one of those gym rats or so-called workout fanatics.  I never quite got that adrenaline rush some of these fitness freaks (and I use that term loosely) claim to experience.  You've seen and heard them before:

"Oh my God, I ran 5 miles today and then I increased both my reps and my weights when I lifted for another couple of hours, oh and THEN I had some more time to kill so I went on for another hour on the elliptical machine, but only after I shied away from the rowing machine, cuz that would've been too much on my back and my biceps after lifting 20 lbs of dumbells in each arms (somewhere in there I'm sure they've managed to catch a breath, but probably not since they're on this adrenaline kick or high or whatever the heck it is that these folks get when they put their bodies through that much TORTURE!!!)". 

Whew, I think I broke out a sweat just typing all that.  But such is my enthusiasm for this whole fitness craze going on.  I mean don't get me wrong, I do appreciate and love the results I get from all the hard work and sweat I put into my own routine and believe you me there was a time that I had to force myself to get back on that horse or in my case that treadmill, well really the elliptical machine, since I hate the treadmill; it's the most boring piece of equipment in the gym, in my humble opinion.  So I do go and honesstly most of the time, I'd say about 4 out of 5 times I force myself to go.  And why might you ask?  Because I hate it.  Yes, you heard me, I hate it.  I don't do it because I get this high like so many other people do (and who are these people?).  I don't dream about going to the gym or get excited to go to the gym.  Instead I have my little pre-talk with myself each and everytime I go:

"OK, so you (me) need to go work out even if it's just for 30 minutes"

Me: (yes, my alter ego does talk back so really it's not just me being crazy talking to myself) "But if it's just 30 minutes that's not going to really make me lose the 5 lbs I gained over this past weekend drinking all those mojitos (or margaritas, it's hard to tell sometimes because I drink so much that by the time I realize the damage I've caused my liver, I've killed those brain cells that would've made me remember what it was that I drank!).  So I might as well just skip the gym"

Me: "But if you work out for 30 minutes that's another glass of wine you can consume tonight, guilt-free (or if it's Tuesday I convincce myself that I'll have room for maybe 3 of those $1 tacos I love so much)"

Me: "Ugh, I really don't want to go but dammit I do want those tacos (or that wine) or hell, both!!!"

So the above exchange is pretty typical of what goes on in my head every time at 6 p.m. when I get off work and decide to either take that ramp to head to the local gym or take the other ramp to head home.  Sometimes I will actually tell myself that I will go home and take Sebastian, my dog, out first so that he doesn't have to wait the extra 2 or so hours for me to come home after I've already been gone all day and THEN I can go to the gym.  This ploy is really just an excuse because I know that if I go home even for one second the chances of me leaving the house for any other reason than to go to a happy hour is pretty slim.  I'm proud to say that for the most part I do end up convincing myself to go to the gym.  While I abhor the laborious work I do at the gym, whether that's doing weights or doing cycling (this year cycling has been my thing; last year it was TKB otherwise known as turbo kick boxiing), I detest not looking the way I want to look in my clothes more. 

So I go.  Kicking and screaming, albeit only in my head, but kicking and screaming nevertheless.  But I struggle even while I am at the gym.  First of all, I try to go to the classes as much as possible because being the lazy butt that I am, I don't like having to think about what to do next or what machine should I use next.  I've gone to enough weight lift classes to know what types of excercise to do when doing weights.  But nevertheless it is such an ordeal.  Plus I get so unmotivated to count by myself and more often than not I'm more apt to cheat and short change myself on my reps and sometimes my weights when I'm working out on my own.  Compare that to having an instructor to monitor and challenge you plus the eyes of every other female (and sometimes the errant male) in the class judging you.  Ok so I'm sure they're too busy worrying about their own workout and their own little black dress they must fit into for the weekend to really care about poor little me, but even so, having other people in the room does serve as a challenge for me to do the work.  Plus I don't have to think of anything other than to follow the instructor and make sure I'm not hitting someone over the head with my 20 lb (ok sometimes it's 15) barbell. 

Anyhow, what I've come to realize about the gym is that it's the perfect place to people watch.  Yes, I know it's not proper etiquette to watch other peopl doing their thing at the gym (except when you spot that hot guy doing 100 bench presses next to you who makes you wish you had makeup on with pefectly coiffed do in your hot little pink daisy duke shorts (ok I really do not have a hot little pink daisy duke shorts nor would I even wear them out--anymore, there was a time I had the cohones to sport those) but I digress.    Course if I did look like how I just described I would be the one others will be staring at for being such a tool dressed up so inappropriately in a place where you come to sweat (but honestly, and sadly, I have seen girls dressed close to that at the gym).  Yikes!  Anyway, where was I?  Oh, yes, people watching.  There are all sorts of people at the gym, each and everyone of them I can write a novel about.  I watch them, conspicuously of course, and use them as the bar for which I measure myself against.  OK, don't hate me but you know there are those of you out there who do the same thing.  Is she bigger than me?  Does she have celllulite too?  Does she have thunder thighs?  Are those real ta tas (it's really easy to spot those, just look at the girls on the treadmills or the elliptical machines--with that much bouncing if those things don't bounce accordingly then yup, you've got silicone, or saline, whatever it is they use these days!).  My overall conclusion on my comparison is that I fall somewhere in the middle of the spectrum of waif-oh my god you've waited this long to start going to the gym you should've been going since you were born spectrum.  OK, that was mean, but you get the idea.  I really shouldn't knock those close to the latter categor because I have much respect for thsoe who are at least doing something about their perceived problem with their bodies.  And I say perceived because I acknowledge the fact that some people are happy just the way they are no matter what their size is.  And good for them.  I've always been a proponent of self-improvement and doing something to change yourself if you're not happy about it.  So  once again, kudos to everyone at the gym for whatever insane reason they have for being there.

One final thought, is it just me, or isn't it so annoying when they show all those fast food commercials on TV while you're working out?  That would be just my luck to be working out on an equipment in perfect view of the TV that shows these commercials.  I already dread going to the gym as it is and all I can think of while i'm there is #1 when will I be done and #2 what am I going to eat when I get home.  Then I see these commercials and it's like dude, seriously, I work out this hard and incorporate a somewhat healthy diet so I won't have to eat those bad-yet-oh-so-delicious temptations.  So I try to veer my head away when those commercials come on for fear that I may run to the nearest Carl's Jr. right when I'm about 10 minutes, 40 calories, 0.75 miles and 20 watts (and what is a watt?) into my workout.  Oh the challenges.

Anyway, hate it or not, I've reached a point in my life where I have to go to the gym otherwise every morsel of food I put in my mouth, I fear, will stay in my body, deposited in the most unlikely places.  And oh it'll happen, believe you me.  Am I paranoid?  Yes, I am.  So again, I go much to my dismay but in 2 days, when the weekend comes, I will look in the mirror and say "You are one hot mama!".

Happy working out to all of you!