I joined a gym about a month ago.
I know, I know, shut it.
The difference this time than my other 9000 attempts is that I’m actually GOING. I am a professional at buying Boot Camp class Groupons and 60 day memberships through Living Social deals and never using them. Seriously, I may as well have flushed those dollars right down the toilet. I would tell myself as I ate my BLT in front of the computer how awesome it was going to be, I was going to do Boot Camp for a month and be totally ripped. Click. Purchase.
Now, I guess all this being sober business has finally gotten the best of me and it’s time to transfer my addiction elsewhere. I figured the gym would be a great place, and I was right.
Here’s the thing, I’ll let you in on a little secret…come close…as alcoholics and addicts we are really addicted to one thing, and that’s more.
So, I got myself a trainer and am doing weights and cardio classes 4-5 times a week and it is kicking my ass. I makes all those wonderful brain chemicals come out and play and sing and dance and I really feel fucking awesome after I go, but yes, getting there can still be a bitch of a battle.
But I hate the fucking elliptical, HATE IT. I’d rather get analy raped with a tree branch by Willard Scott than get on that thing. I can do the treadmill for a while but it’s boring as fuck. And there is one thing I hate above all others, and that is running. The only time I ever enjoyed running was if I was chasing a ball playing a sport. If I could hire a group of rapists to chase me I’d probably be a killer runner though. What a great business idea, 1-800-Hire A Rapist : Running Through Fear.
Did I mention I smoke? Yeah, about a pack a day. I know haters, shut it, I think it causes Cancer or something, yeah yeah yeah. One vice at a time for the love of cock.
It does make the cardio a little (lot) more challenging. Here I am in a Step class, breathing like I just ran the Boston Marathon 4 minutes in. Then I spend the rest of the hour just trying not to die. I like that I have to concentrate on all the moves up and down and over because it really helps to distract me from the fact that I’m about to have a cardiac arrest. That’s why I do those classes though, because I’m OCD competitive and I would literally drop dead before I would walk out of a class. So I just stare at my feet and will them up and down that step for an hour without tripping or falling, then, when it’s over, I celebrate with a Marlboro Light the minute I hit my car.
But so what, I’m doing it and I’m actually sticking to it. My trainer fucking tortures me, I try to make him laugh a lot so that he will stop making me do so many reps but it never works. Then he increases my weights and I spew obscenities at him on every push or pull or lift. Then he just laughs at me and makes me do it all over again. It’s a total fuck you session that I secretly enjoy and the banter makes it go by rather quickly. He tries to trick-count on me a lot and I tell him that’s why he’s a trainer and ask if he needs help learning the alphabet.
So I essentially pay someone to motivate me. It’s kind of awesome, I wish I could hire a personal trainer in other arenas of my life such as “laundry” and “writing” and “stop masturbating and clean the house”. Is that considered a life coach? Oh right, that’s considered a husband and I no longer have one.
On that note, if you need me I’ll be not doing laundry and masturbating before I have to head out to the gym.