24 Minute Fitness

Last week I ventured back to the gym that I enthusiastically joined a month ago. When I say “joined”, I really mean being dragged along with a friend, signing up for membership, trying out the ellipse machine for about 10 minutes and then going home to watch TV. Thus, I have joined the gym. A big motivator, actually, is that fact that my company pays for a lot of the membership. I basically pay like $10 a month for a really good gym. So after flashing around my gym membership to my friends a few times, I realized that in order to pull off being a “gym-goer”, I actually had to start going to the gym.

There’s also a very weird culture at the gym. You really have to know you’re way around, and how to walk the walk and talk the talk. When I walk in to the gym, I feel like a person who walks into a Chinese restaurant and orders a hot dog. I just don’t fit in. Plus, the place is like a meat market. Little did I know that you don’t go to a nice gym dressed in pajama-esque clothes and with no make-up and your smelly old sneakers. No, going to the gym is very much about showing off.

There seem to be two types of people at my gym. People in the know and the rest of us. People in the know totally know what they’re doing and look very calm and collected in the gym, while the rest of us nerds walk around bonking into each other while searching for the bathroom. People in the know prance in and know exactly what to do with their little ID card to get them in the door in record time and on to the treadmill. They also seem to always be carrying a Nalgene bottle and a dish towel. I haven’t figured out what the dish towel is for yet, but you apparently must have one if you want to look like you know what you’re doing. These people also know how to work to machines easily.

I usually find a machine that looks the least like a torture device, then I stand on it (usually when I’m supposed to be sitting on it) and sort of wait. Isn’t it supposed to do something? There are all sorts of buttons and knobs, but how am I supposed to know what to do with them? I often press the button “Quick Start” because that sounds so easy. It’s deceptive, however. After pressing this button, it then wants you to enter your weight. How rude! That could be really embarrassing for some people! I mean, after every digit it makes a huge beep noise! Talk about broadcasting insecurities to the whole gym. So after that, it asks you all sorts of other questions that you never thought to consider. “What’s my peak desired heat rate?” Um, what’s a normal heart rate? Like two hundred? After answering a few of these questions, I begin to doubt my motives at the gym. Is this what normal people really think about when they embark on a workout? “Well, I’d better damn well achieve my desired heart rate or this is all for squat!”

After all this button pressing, I think I’m ready to start. So I start to pedal. Upon my first push of the pedal, all sorts of beeps and bleets start happening and the pedals stop. What the heck? Aren’t bike pedally machines meant for pedaling? Oh my gosh, IS THIS a bike pedal machine?! (I’m always afraid that I’ll be sitting on a machine the wrong way, like on a machine for abs, only with my feet up in the air because I think it’s for hamstrings) This pedaling is way too complicated and now I’ve angered the ProWorkout5000. What is going on?! I have a Master’s degree and this bike machine is getting the better of me.

Luckily, my gym has classes you can take for free (otherwise I would really never go). So I spent weeks considering which to take. “OK, aerobics… that sounds good. Oh wait, that’s on a Wednesday night at 6.. hmm. That might be a little tight.. I had plans with a box of cookies and the Daily Show. Oh, OK, instead I’m going to take “Low Impact 24 Cycle”. Whatever that is. Yeah, it looks like “Raven” is teaching that class at 7 on Tuesday. That works better. Oh, but wait. I was going to take a nap on my couch that day. So that won’t work.”
It went on like this for weeks. When I suddenly realized that my month’s membership was in days of expiring, and I had yet to go back since I signed up! I was sure as hell not about to let those corporate goons at the gym take another ten dollars out of my bank account without me going at least once more to look like a fool trying to figure out the weight machines.

So I went to take a pilates class. It was pretty fun actually. Now, I don’t mean the exercising part was fun. That was hard. I don’t consider anything fun that leaves you aching the next day in places that shouldn’t ache (like the archs of your feet and your elbows). The fun part was watching all the other nerds in the class displaying their weird gym behavior.

During this class, I concluded that some people really should not wear stretchy pants. In fact, most people should really not wear stretchy pants. One of whom is in the class with me every week and I call her chubby-girl. I know, I can hear the moans already. (I can hear Triathlon Jake right now, “Heath! Don’t call people chubby at the gym! You’re so mean!”) So call me what you want, but hear me out. Chubby-girl comes religiously ever week. She sits in the back corner and lies on her back and basically her purpose in coming is to watch the instructor describe the next move, and then decide it’s too hard. Every now and then I look back at her, when I’m struggling to do some insane move where I’m holding my right foot straight up in the air and my entire body weight is on my pinky toe, and she’s still lying on her back. I really haven’t seen her try anything, except for the stupid neck warm up that only involves you moving your head from side to side. And then at the end of every class, we’ll all start rolling up our mats to leave, and she’ll still be on her back. Then, after a few minutes (while I’m hiding behind the stack of free weights watching her and laughing to myself) she’ll reach for her bottle of water with so much huffing and puffing you think she’d just run in a marathon. After about half an hour, she’ll finally get up and leave to go home, where she will presumably recover from the intense workout for the rest of the week until the pilates class rolls around again.

I also think my pilates instructor makes up muscle groups. She often refers to the “cleegboid” muscle, and everyone nods along and gets into position. I must have missed the crucial day of class when we were told where this muscle group was and why I want to work on it.

I’ll keep you updated on my progress in the gym. (You know I can’t go anywhere without finding someone or something to make fun of.. .it’s how my mind works)