Been a bit sluggish on the post front lately. Apologies. I fully blame my sister for introducing me to Girls (TV series, not potential same-sex mates). My need for this programme is so all-encompassing that I just watched a full episode in between writing this sentence and the one before it. I cannot be helped.
Sorry, another one happened.
What was I going to write about?
Oh, yeah. I went to the gym this week! *muffled fanfare*
I hated it. HATED it. You know when once in a while, you go to an old haunt you frequented in your teen years because it was the only place in town that served booze to minors?
Yeah, you doooo, don't give me that!
Well, the gym reminded me of that kind of nostalgia. You think it'll be fun. That because you enjoyed it sooo much when you used to go there (at least you think you enjoyed it, otherwise why did you spend every weekend there?), then why don't you still go there now?
And then you go. And then you remember why you don't go there now.
Reason I went was because it was especially crappy outdoors, and I had ten miles that needed bashing out at some point this week. Plus, I'd started my annual weighing up of the pros and cons about getting a membership for doing that cross training thing that I've heard so much about.
Now, I don't want to offend any gym worshipers - I appreciate that the gym is a haven for many, and a social hub, and I admire your dedication and willpower for going regularly, but Christ, I found it frustrating to be there!
I went along with a friend who had the same mileage to do. For the duration of our visit, he happily bounced the miles away on the treadmill, whereas I rage-quit after half an hour (an impressive feat for me - I wanted to break the machine apart with my bare hands after ten minutes), and then half heartedly played on some machines I'm not even sure that I used correctly.
Aforementioned friend found me two hours later, sadly pedaling away on a stationary bike and starting listlessly into my Kindle.
Karl Pilkington - The Moaning Of Life, if interested.
I want to leave myself a list of reasons here of why I hate the gym, so I can avoid further bouts of murder-rage should I begin to entertain the idea of signing up again.
Dear future Becky:
1. Repeatedly doing the same movement over and over whilst not going ANYWHERE makes your body angry with you, the world and everybody in it. YOU ARE NOT A HAMSTER. You do not require a hamster wheel.
2. People don't like it when you start watching them because you are not moving ANYWHERE and therefore have no scenery to take in. They do not understand that the reason behind your stares is that you want something, anything to look at that's not a wall or a frosted window. They think you are judging them/ogling their goodies.
3. You don't know how 90% of the machines work. And yes, you do look like a knob trying to figure it out just because you're too much of a proud wussy to ask the nice staff. That thing you used to make your arms hurt a bit? Probably for toning your butt, or face, or something. Just give up.
4. It frustrates and irritates you that you have zero control over what music they play in there and that every music video that matches the songs on the TV screens boasts body shapes that you will never obtain, even if you lived in the gym and lived off protein shakes and awesomeness for the whole year. Even if you lost all of your body fat and got hair extensions, you still won't be Iggy Azalea (sp?!), because you are five foot three and she has at least sixteen feet's worth of legs... Measurement feet, not actual. Although exotic, Iggy Azalea is not many legged spider creature.
5. The weights area will always terrify you. You will hover around its boundaries, wimp out, and then stare wistfully at it as you sadly toil away on the rowing machine until the clicking in your knees drives you mental.
There. Hopefully that will save future me some time and money.
Went for a ten miler today in weather ten times worse than what it was on the fateful gym night.
The wind was howling, the sky was grey and it intermittently hailed and rained. My feet kept feeling like they were being blown out from underneath me. I had to actually climb over a fallen tree to keep going along the route I'd chosen, and several people made a point of pointing out how deranged I was for bimbling around in it.
And I LOVED it! A normal long run became an obstacle course, and because I was unsure of my footing, splashing through puddles (weee!), and had to keep an eye out on where my feet were landing, the time flew. And I even got some extra distance in when my hat blew away a couple of times.
And that's another thing. This was the first run I've ever worn a hat during - It was a revelation! I had no idea that being buffeted in the face by rainwater and hail was optional. Hurrah for peaked hats!
I know everyone's different, and they enjoy to exercise (or not - that's okay too. I love a sofa as much as, if not more than anyone. S'up, sofa surfers! *poorly executed gang sign*) in a way uniquely preferable to them. And I reckon it's not until you try something that you hate with so much fervor that it actually gives you energy that you figure out what it is that you really, really like doing. And I really, really like putting my stretchy pants on and lolloping off out the door and pounding the pavements, whatever the weather.
Bring it on, wind! I don't fear you anymore!!
.....I really hope that someone skim reading this post doesn't think it's about my heroic conquering of flatulence. That's another post entirely.