working out

i now belong to a gym.
it's not one of those testosterone-laden Bally's sweat tanks or one of those uber-hip gyms like Crunch or Sweat or Grunt or whatever they're called now. and it's not the quiet chic sophisticated kind of gym like East Bank or Holmes Place.

no, it's Slim & Tone. it's a girly 'gym' for girlies who hate working out and don't want anyone to bother them. if those other gyms are for people with celebrity personalities, my gym is for people who feel like they're in the witness protection program. S&T is strictly no-nonsense: a circuit of machines, a treadmill, a shower, some fruit, a scale, and a perky girl who follows you around, working out with you so you won't feel lonely.

i like lonely, lady. that's why i'm here at 6.30 am. so i can be lonely while i figure out how to clench my ass and squeeze my thighs to the thumping house beats of madonna. when i took my workout personality test, i'm pretty sure Fuck Off was my key trait.

i hate working out and i do it furtively - it's not because i don't like showing my body while it's sweating and grunting (i'm consciously NOT going to make a sexual remark here.) it's not because i hate how i look in my yoga pants and red lycra tank (i also have the cutest polo footies ever!!).
i scuttle around the machines and watch the clock like a hawk because i HATE being in a gym. i hate thinking about form, reps, cooling down, over extending, whatever. it's the most boring thing on earth - next to golf and listening to a fundamentalist drone on about the proper role of women.
i also hate the people who talk about working out: the guys who drone on about the burn (whatever), the girls who chatter about their awesome spinning class (eat something) or the couples who drawl about their yoga (it's not attractive that you can now lick your own butthole.) they can all shut up and go away. i don't want to hear about how many inches you've lost or how many carbs you've dropped or how ripped your guns are.

it's boring. shut up.

i'd rather smoke an entire pack of cigarettes in a dark old guy bar while drinking rotgut than be in a gym. i'd rather sit through a derrida lecture than go to the gym. i'd rather hook up again with IncognitoLatino and have him bite my neck than go to the gym. and yet - here i am. sweating, grunting, lunging, bending, heaving, almost vomiting (too much cardio, too much cardio).

heh - but irony rears its head and forces me to admit that it feels really good. dammit.