I started going to the gym in September of 2008. Mind you, the only ever "gym experience" I had ever had prior to September '08 was gym class. That's right, never before had I stepped foot in a gym willingly and honestly 'til this day, I still never have.
I was actually more of a cheerleader. Now you may laugh at this, because I would surely have laughed if I had seen myself in high school "cheering" for my team, but it's true. My primary goal on my bowling team was to play cheerleader, and keep everyone in good enough spirits that they wouldn't give up on the game. I still don't know how those bowling alley chairs held my weight, but I sure did a lot of bouncing around on them in the spirit of cheering. This was the only time I was ever ok with team sports because I didn't feel like I was letting the other players down. I guess after 10 years of bowling competitively with your dad gives you some basis of skill and therefore I couldn't completely suck. Also, bowling is rarely considered a sport by those who don't actually bowl, so maybe I never did play a team sport.
Now the reason for all of this jibber jabber was to explain my relationship with the gym. About two and a half months after my surgery, I figured it was time to take advantage of the window of opportunity I had where I was obviously not consuming as many calories as I was burning (the diet after gastric bypass surgery is severely restrictive). So, I started going to the gym. I felt like a damn fool and prayed that no one would be at the elliptical in the corner of the small gym at my grad school. That's all I did for a while. Ellipticized or whatever the word is for working out on the elliptical. Cardio was a good start. I then started to throw in some upper body machine work, carefully reading the instructions on the machines which I'm sure no one besides myself actually reads anymore. I dragged Mallory along to the gym, but I was definitely out of shape comparatively, yet I somehow forced myself to keep going. Probably because I couldn't avoid it, it being in the basement of the building I spent every day of my life for a year. A few months later I got a personal trainer at this individual training studio and that was pretty stupendous. It was enjoyable because I enjoyed spending time with my trainer, he was just a good guy. Shout out to the only good Jason I have every met thus far! Also, it helped that someone was basically forcing me to do shit that was actually beneficial to my health and would work my muscles in the right way. When I moved down to Evanston for the summer, I actually joined a gym that I really enjoyed as well. Got another trainer, so I was training 4 times a week and it was just great. I also wasn't eating like complete shit because I didn't live at home with my mother. (Moving back home/living in my house is going to be a major entry in this blog at some point.) I lost over 100lbs that year.
Fast forward again, I move back home and other than occasionally venturing up one flight of stairs to use my father's elliptical or any of the weights that I lugged back from Chicago, I don't see a gym for a year. I start working at my current job and am snacking all the time, because what else does one do when they're sitting at a desk for 8 hours a day with nothing else to do? A coworker convinces me to go to a benefits fair and there I see the promotional table for New York Sports Club. Now I knew I had to get back into the gym and I figured join somewhere expensive as hell that I can't avoid so not only does my Jewish guilt kick in because of the money I'm spending, but my laziness can't win because I literally have to walk past the gym anywhere you go in this damn city and it's just impossible to avoid. So I started going back to the gym. I started going to classes, doing cardio, etc... I even tried Zumba - but that was a horrible misery of a failure because I have no rhythm unless I have a sufficient amount of alcohol coursing through my bloodstream that would allow me to pretend that I wasn't given the "white person no rhythm" curse. Alcohol is actually very convincing, I swear I think I'm Shakira when I drink - but these hips are lying...deceptive fuckers.
I spent most of the winter nursing my knee back to health. Oddly enough, no "permanent damage" was sustained. It was, as they say, "only a flesh wound". January I felt warranted not going to the gym because of my knee although my orthopedist said I could go back once I got my stitches out, but what does he know? Then of course I ended up getting surgery on February 3rd, to start the process of getting rid of the excess garbage left over from my morbidly obese days. Three weeks after this surgery I was told I could go back to the gym, but what do plastic surgeons know? Needless to say, on April 4th, I returned to the gym (and have only been 3 times since).
I still don't enjoy pushing myself to go, because I am still intrinsically lazy. Every day I say "I don't want to go to the gym" but if you'll remember back to my last entry, I love to complain!
In my mind I want to take dance classes - and in my mind I am actually capable of dancing at these dance classes but I have almost come to grips with the fact that I will look like a damn fool trying to dance. Latin dancing is not for me, and I'm not cool enough for hip hop. My feet are too flat for ballet and I'm not ethnic enough for African dance. I'm not peppy enough for jazz and I'm not hippie enough for modern. All in all, I'm just not a dancer but I will watch the hell out of other people dancing! I'll stick to my drunken dubbing and working out on machines; that is just fine by me.