Exercise. It’s a dirty word. I hate it with the fiery passion of a hangry Jillian Michaels. I have no choice though: I have to exercise. Mostly so I don’t end up killing anyone. Also because I can’t afford new (larger) pants.
But I do have a choice on where I exercise.
I was talking to a friend the other day about working out at a gym versus working out at home. I was brutally honest about my anti-gym stance.
Me: Fuck the gym. I’ll never go there.
Friend: Really? I’d never work out if I didn’t go to the gym. I don’t have the discipline to work out at home, and I have no equipment. Besides, it’s one of the few “me times” I get during the week.
Me: I have the exact opposite problem. I would never exercise if I had to go to a gym…
Then I proceeded to explain all of my reasons.
- Money: Gyms require that you hand over buckets of money. Not only can I not afford them, if I could, I’d spend that money on wine. And bacon. Yes, it is possible to consume even more wine and bacon than I already do. Of course, then, I’d need to work out even more. I feel a vicious cycle starting, and I don’t need that in my life. (Or monthly payments that take an act of Congress to cancel.)
- Motivation: I hate working out. HATE. IT. I need to make it as easy and as accessible as possible. I sleep in my workout clothes. (So sexy, I know.) I lay out my shoes and socks and other gear the night before. I can’t have any obstacles to provide me with any excuses to not work out. Even a 10-minute drive to a gym is enough for me to say, “Fuck that shit” and hit snooze five more times.
- Gas: No, not the kind you put in your car. You know what I’m talking about. I expel gas when I work out. Yes, I said it: I fart. Especially during yoga. And then I start cracking up because I think farts are funny. By staying home, I’m just trying to help the rest of the world stay focused on their workouts. You’re welcome, random gym dweller.
- People: There are PEOPLE at the gym. I don’t do people. (Except Mr. Foxy. If he’s lucky.)
- Locker rooms: I am not a naked person. Hell, I don’t even look at myself naked in the mirror. I sure the heck don’t do naked in public. I don’t want to see other people’s naked parts, and I don’t need any professional work-out girl looking at my jiggly bare bits either. (You would never see me in one of these places.)
- Dis-grace: I am not exaggerating when I tell you that I am completely uncoordinated. I constantly tip over during yoga tree pose. I lose my balance doing the simplest of stretches. I look like a complete idiot during any cardio that is even remotely dancey. Basically, I am the Elaine Benes of the workout floor. Nobody needs to see that ridiculousness.
The moral of the story? If a gym is your thing, there’s nothing wrong with that. Just stay true to yourself and workout where you feel comfortable. (And can fart freely.) And most importantly? Do what you need to do so we can all go back to consuming wine and bacon.