Months ago, my cat misheard me say I was going to the gym and started tweeting that I was having an affair with a guy named Jim. If the most unbelievable part of this statement is that I was working out, then you have correctly taken the temperature of my life. Rectally.
I enjoy working out. Specifically, I enjoy running and spinning classes. If there was a way to build your own gym, mine would be treadmills, ellipticals, 24 hour spinning classes and cost $15 a month. And there wouldn’t be any spanky pants or thongs allowed. Hey, if you’ve got a hot body, that’s super-swell but I feel the same way about skin tight workout attire as I do skinny jeans on guys: if I can see everything in the package, it makes me lose all desire to unwrap it.
Trying to motivate me to do strength/resistance training is how they punish sociopaths for their crimes, and the trainers I’ve had in the past have performed their jobs accordingly. The only way you get me onto a weight machine is to dangle manga (preferably the next volume of Higurashi) in front of me and say “you can only have this when you’ve done 20 reps,” then let me read two pages, rinse and repeat.
Like I said, what I enjoy most is running, which means I am usually making a beeline for the treadmill. I’ve also usually put together an awesome playlist for the occasion, which means I will either be moving my lips along with the music or occasionally gesturing with my hands. Most popular recently is the dual-wielded finger guns.
This attraction to the treadmill is exactly why I have to go to a gym, though. As you may remember, half the time I can’t get on a treadmill in our apartment’s fitness center to save my life after 5:00 PM. The other half I’m going into work too early to use it because it opens at 6:00 AM.
Before you ask, I can’t run around my place for several reasons:
- Our apartments are located on the access road of a highway
- We live next door to a strip club and adult video store
- My one friend at work suspects there’s a serial killer on the nearby trails
- Feral children and meth addicts
When I lived in Wisconsin, my options were running on the track in the YMCA (no one was ever down there because it was kept the temperature of a meat locker), running on the treadmill at the YMCA or running up and down the beautiful lakeshore – we literally lived across the street from Lake Michigan – and out to the lighthouse. The weather was generally agreeable, whereas this is Texas and hotter than a hot-ass in hot pink hot pants 9 out of 12 months. Real talk, people died in the half-marathon they had inNovember.
So once Mister E gets his business squared away, I’ll be going to visit a nice, non-confrontational gym here that has a location less than two miles from my work. If I can go before work sucks my soul out through my ear and makes me think of suicide, things will be fine. JUST FINE.