Elliptical Machine = Devil...Gym = Hell

You know the biggest problem with living in this area?  (And when I say 'this area', I mean specifically a big metropolis)  The problem is that there are ginormous groups of people who think that exercise is 'good' for you and practically scream at you with far too much enthusiasm and endorphins pumping through their skinny-butt selves that you should do it too.  That is the problem right there! 

Okay I said it.  I seriously dislike me some exercising and as of today, I also declare that the elliptical machine is the devil and the gym...well...hell is what it is I say, HELL.  You know the one where there is fire and brimstone's and a lotta sobbing, sweating and tears?  Yea well if you ask me, the description bizarrely fits both locales. 

I found this online and had to share.  This is my general feeling about working out right there:

Here's my question:  Am I the only person on earth who truly hates working out and anything connected to it?  Who cringes at the very thought of putting on stupid outfits to go and sweat in a smelly gym?  Or am I the only mortal who treads upon gods green earth who is willing to admit all this out loud and not give a damn as to who agrees or disagrees with me and not afraid of the judgement either?  Nah, am pretty sure I ain't the only. 

 

But seriously, I only can speak for American and I can say Americans are nutso about their exercise (please ignore the fact that I too am an American but my Desi side is strong when it comes to this). 

 

I remember once several years ago in the middle of a particularly cold autumn, I was driving a newly arrived guest from B-desh to my mothers house.  We were stopped at the light and Aunty (remember every person older than you is either an Aunty or an Uncle in my culture) who was sitting in the passenger seat wide-eyed and in awe spotted and pointed out to me a woman in long leggings, a tight fighting black spandex like hoodie, a puffer jacket and earmuffs go running by.   

 

I didn't think much of it but Aunty looked confounded.  She turned to me and asked in notable astonishment "what is she doing?" while pointing in the direction of the retreating back.

 

I said without turning to look and with a casual dismissing wave of a hand, "oh she's just exercising."  As if that explained it all, and of course it would have...to anyone living here.  Not to those coming from B-desh.

 

She considered my answer for a moment and then said in a voice laced with all sorts of judgement, "In this cold?  What exercising?  No, may be she's running from something or someone?  Or may be she is just crazy?  I think that is the answer.  But then again all of you Umerikan's are slightly crazy.  You will never find a Bangladeshi running around in this weather."  Then after a pause, she added "you will not find a Bangladeshi running around in any weather, we do not have time for such nonsense."  (All said in a fairly thick Desi accent)  (You know you're re-reading that line with the accent now, aren't you?)  heh.

 

I did a mental 'huh' and drove on.  I also liked how she thought.  I had always thought it was insane to be running around in any extreme weather without something worthwhile waiting for you at the end, like a huge cheese steak sub or diamonds...just sayin'.

 

But still society pressure and opinion has even managed to shame me into dragging my miserable bootay to the gym, hating every bloody step and whining endlessly on the way.  Lol...I also confess that if I'm going to the gym, I make sure everyone and their mothers know cause you know, it makes me look like a royal bad ass and like a total health conscious freak!  Anyhow, the general act of working out has never been joyful to me (big shocker) though afterwards I (grudgingly) admit that I do feel good and pretty effin' proud of myself.  I also morph into the adrenaline junkie that other worker-outers are known to become  once I've indulged enough times and have even been eager to flex muscles...no really, I can have muscles...no really!

But again I digress, the reason I'm writing this blog is because today...yes today, I started at my new gym, conveniently located in the basement of my new job.  And what did I learn from this experience?  A few things: 

 

1.)  It's nice and shiny (the gym) which makes it tolerable to go to before it gets sweaty and stinky, something which is bound to happen before long (I pray this will actually happen in which case I can use it as a legit excuse to be outrageously disgusted and not return again, ever).  (The probability is that this indeed will not happen because the facility is actually immaculate and looked after by a seemingly diligent staff...darn it.)

2.)  It's fairly easy to get to (I repeat it's in the basement of the building) and therefore motivation to actually go is a slight bit higher as is the likeliness of taking the steps there cause I'll tell you what, the whole 'go home, get changed, go to the gym thing' was so not working for me. 

3.)  The equipment is new and also shiny but most importantly fancy with even on-demand available so that your workout can be slightly less painful than say...tooth extraction...and the time can go by a bit faster with your peepers fastened to some random television show or movie rather than gazing every few seconds at the clock wondering why only 2 damn minutes have passed by instead of what you had initially thought, 10 productive, sweat-inducing, painfully blinding minutes.  This is nice because I remember the old days of tread milling when your best option was to either have it facing a television or reading a book and make yourself sick in the process.  But anyhow the problem with the television here is that one of the channels available is The Food Network.  Really?  Um...why?  WHY?  My idea of keeping my equilibrium is not to be staring at Paula Dean stuffing a stick of butter into her mouth gleefully while I'm huffing and puffing on a StairMaster that's taking me...NO WHERE!

4.)  It is hot in there.  I mean hot hot hot...like as in earlier reference to the word 'hell' sorta hot.  It's beads of sweat immediately popping onto your upper hairy-lip, under your armpits and behind your knees kinda hot and that too as soon as you step inside the blasted place.  Um, is this done on purpose?  I need to know this because in my prior gyms (yes, I've actually been to other gyms before this one) I never recalled them being quit this stifling. 

5.)  The elliptical machine, without a doubt, 100% is the devil, or the spawn of the devil.  Either way, it mocked me the minute I clamped eyes on it and seemed to cackle in evil satanic glee.  It even jeered to me in a vicious whisper as I stepped warily back onto it, "welcome back...to hell". 

6.)  I still hate, loath, despise, abhor, abominate and strongly dislike working out.  There is no punishment worse in my book and nothing I would more happily avoid.  Enough said.

7.)  I will be going back. :(

 

Okay well off to bed.  I really look forward the fact that tomorrow I'll wake up with a stiff back, achy joints and legs that want to do nothing more than lay in bed rather than move. 

 

Please no one give me encouraging words such as 'you can do it!', 'but it's the best thing for your body' or 'hey congrats, good for you!' and I certainly do not want to hear 'the first step is always the hardest'.  If you do say any of these things to me or anything even slightly similar, I will find you and stab you with a plastic spork.

 

Oh oh, and remind me to post the fantabulous experience I had at the gym which P had signed me up for (his fancy state-of-the-art one) and which I graced only once, never to have gone back since.  Believe me, there is a reason behind that. 

*groans*