Last weekend, I went to the gym.
I am not a gym person. I prefer to get my exercise in the form of regular daily-life things. We walk everywhere, I’m constantly chasing Charlotte around the house, we swim all the time, etc.
But since moving to Beijing, I’ve noticed that my opportunities for this kind of exercise have really dwindled. Charlotte is older, and no longer want to be carried everywhere. Since I live on the same compound where I work, my daily walk to work takes all of 30 seconds. Everything we need is within a few kilometre radius. As a result, let’s just say that my clothes are fitting too well these days.
Something clearly needed to change, and I was really looking forward to J. arriving so that (amongst a gazillion other reasons) I would finally have time to get some exercise, which would inevitably have to involve getting my lazy butt to the gym.
On Saturday, I finally managed to do so.
On the way out, J. called to me “Have a good workout! Go hard!”
To tell you the truth, I was planning on a leisurely stroll on the treadmill while catching up on America’s Next Top Model reruns.
But then I got to the gym, and there were all these people there, ‘going hard.’ They were all sweaty and serious, and toned and buff. And I felt kind of like an idiot at my turtle pace on the treadmill. And, I may have a teeny-tiny competitive streak. So I decided to take J’s advice.
I cranked the volume on my mp3 player, and jacked up the treadmill speed to a not all that comfortable running pace. And I ran my butt off. When my legs turned to jelly, I slowed down the pace, revved up the incline, and had a brisk uphill hike. Then I did some weights. I came home sweaty, and utterly exhausted. But I felt great, determined to hit the gym again the next day.
The next day arrived, and I could not move. Every muscle in my legs had seized up. My arms and shoulders felt like lead. My feet hurt. Hell, even my elbows were achy. And I was still utterly exhausted.
It took a full three days before I could walk properly again.
I just don’t think I’m cut out for this whole gym thing…
What I think I look like at the gym
What I actually look like at the gym (note: not an actual photo of me)