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Wednesday, September 23, 2009

The great divide

All my life I have believed strongly in that line between exercise and masochism that should not be crossed by yours truly, under any circumstances. Despite this belief, I have a dark past as an exercise nut. At my worst, I would work out two hours a day, every day, seven days a week and I spent more time contemplating protein sources than I care to think about.

But I got better. Or maybe I just got lazy. Yeah, I think that’s probably it. Hiking with Pooch doesn’t count as exercise. I don’t know why, but it doesn’t.

So then the step-mum suggests that we start going to the gym together. Circuit training. It started regularly enough, with work-outs a couple of times a week followed by ice cream. So far so good.

I suppose I should also mention that this gym is…odd. They periodically like to play insane music like YMCA and Bee Gees. There are different categories of people in my gym.

First, there are the rich, fat people. They will come in with their friends, STAND on the treadmill and chatter for a bit before they say “oh, my legs are so tired” and move on to the next thing, and so on and so forth. After an hour of this, they will grab their MOSS water bottles, jump into their sports cars and no doubt feel very good about themselves for having spent a whole hour working out.

Second, there are the regular people. The sane ones that go 2-3 times a week and put in a moderate effort and then go out and buy an ice cream afterwards, or something.

The third type is the gym bunny. They’re the slim, perfectly toned people who look like they’ve never eaten a snack in their lifes, and they are always there, no matter what time of the day you decide to stop by. Most likely, they were all built in secret, underground laboratories. Some of them are models, all of them are annoying.

The gym bunnies never speak to anyone other than other gym bunnies. The other two categories are just slightly smelly air to them. Personally, I’ve been planted firmly in the regular people group. Then about three weeks ago, I started to notice a…shift. Slowly but surely I began to enjoy the process of using the gym equipment to inflict pain upon myself. I suffered and I liked it. And like any drug, you eventually need to move on to bigger doses and then even bigger ones.

So there I was the other day, buring through the exercise machines at breakneck speeds. Then a gym bunny enters, looks around with empty gym bunny eyes at all the free machines, before getting on the one right next to me. At first I thought that perhaps she simply didn’t notice me there, seeing how I’m a category two dose of slightly smelly air. The thought had no sooner formed in my brain, before the gym bunny made eye contact, smiled and said “hello” and drifted into whatever thought-dimension gym bunnies go to while they’re working out.

Mommy, I’m scared…

8 comments:

Hagelrat said...

Hun, hate to break it to you, but you are a GYM BUNNY.

choochoo said...

I was afraid of that... lol

Jazz said...

Oh my god, you're becoming a gym bunny!!!

Get thee hence, Satan!

Alex said...

oh yeah, I remember the gym bunny days. Once a fitness nut, always a fitness nut. Hate to break it to you, but that's how it works. Welcome back to the fold, gorgeous :P

lime said...

no one has ever accused me of being a gym bunny and it's doubtful anyone ever will since i can't even recall the last time i was in a gym. waving to you as you cross to the dark side.

thanks for stopping by my place earlier. :)

Big Brother said...

Do you have a hankering to wear lycra all the time? If so, all is lost.

choochoo said...

Jazz - Oh, you know you love me, really!

Alex - uhm...thanks.

Lime - That's mighty friendly of you.

Big brother - I didn't have that the last time I was nuts.

Jocelyn said...

You've crossed to the dark side!

Actually, I'm a rare beast: a gym bunny who isn't slim or model-perfect. So, er, I'm not a freak like you? Is that my point?