Thursday, May 15, 2014

Back to the Gym

I joined a gym a month ago and to the surprise of everyone--particularly myself--I've actually gone there. More than once!

I've managed to get to the gym 3-5 times every week so far. Now, I'm realistic; I'm not expecting an immediate transformation. But the scale is pissing me off something fierce. It refuses to show me anything different than it had been. Literally, not by a single pound.

I feel like I've built at least some muscle in the past few weeks. Doesn't that mean I have to have burned off some fat? At least a little bit? Please? Don't answer; that was a hypothetical. I'm going to go ahead and believe that's the case. I have to.

You know what intimidates me more than the guys grunting and banging weights around? Realizing that some of the women on the treadmills were there when I showed up and are still jogging/walking when I'm heading out the the door. And that's including shower time!

I do have to laugh at some of the guys I see there. I'm certain they're the kind to brag to their friends about spending 3 hours at the gym, but what they don't mention is that most of that time was spent wandering aimlessly around the floor, chatting with other gym members or playing with their phones. I'm pretty sure that doesn't count.

It's a little difficult to not feel out of place at the gym, especially since whenever I go there at night, it's mostly twentysomething time. I've come to terms with the fact that I'm the sole old guy most nights. I'm hoping the sentiment is mostly "good for him" and not "aw, man, why do they let in the olds this late?"

The other night, the gym staff member at the desk said something to me that almost made me cancel my membership right then and there: "Good night, sir!" Sir. I'm a sir. Blecch.

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