Gym Withdrawal

I was never the poster child for fitness. I could never run more than a lap without getting a sharp pain in my side, and I did so poorly in 6th grade gym class that they stuck me in a gym class with special education kids for the first portion of 7th grade until my mom complained and got me back in the regular class. I was glad she stuck up for me, but I also wished she'd let me lift weights when I was younger. “You'll stunt your growth!” she warned, and as a result raised a short chubby kid instead of a short muscular one. I'd have been happier as Puck than I was as Kirby.

I was probably at my peak during my Senior year in college, after spending a Summer in the hot sun working at a gas station and having nothing but a half gallon of iced tea for lunch every day. I was tan, slimmed down to a record 150 pounds, and had decent calves from running back and forth all day. Then I graduated, got a desk job, got a girlfriend, and spent my days in the office and my weekends in movie theaters, restaurants, or on couches. It was the beginning of the end.

Salvation arrived in my late 20s, when the company I was with at the time added a gym. It was affordable and convenient, and though the temptation to go home at night was great, exercise was only a few steps down a side corridor away from the parking lot. I got into a routine and stuck with it. I may never see 150 pounds again, but I got well below 200. It didn't do much for my outward appearance, but did inward wonders for my confidence and energy levels. When I was laid off last year, and found a new job, I no longer had access to a company gym. With a more reasonable workload and nowhere to go at the end of each day, I rediscovered what it was like to get home when the sun was still out, and began seeing a lot more movies. But, if still possible to make a long story short at this point, I felt like crap after a few months.

I joined a new gym up the road from my company. It wasn't as affordable or convenient as the one at my old job, but it was a lot bigger and better. The temptation to go home each night was still there, but I managed to drive the distance from my office to the gym and park rather than keep going. I got into a new routine, started feeling better, and enjoyed being able to see my feet when I looked down. I'd occasionally miss a day if I was on vacation, or had plans with friends after work, so I wasn't as obsessive as I used to be. Still, even when I only went there four days a week, it was better than not going at all.

Now, I find myself two weeks bereft of exercise. I was on vacation the first week, and that in itself wouldn't have been tragic. But then I got sick. So I skipped going after work on Tuesday, nursing a sore throat. I was feeling better on Wednesday, but didn't want to risk a relapse. I got worse anyway. By Friday I was chilled and borderline delirious. I rested over the weekend, and I probably should have gone and done some light exercise on Monday night, but it was freezing outside and the thought of getting in and out of my car more than once was far less appealing than continuing past the gym and on my way home. At least I lost my appetite for a few days so it's not like I've been pigging out and sitting idle. Meanwhile, I'm now just donating money to the gym, automatic deductions on my credit card statement for a service I'm not taking advantage of, much like Chandler Bing once did.

I want to GO TO THE GYM!!

Tuesday night; it has to happen....