I really hate gyms (as previously outlined here).

           Today…I joined a gym.

           As you may recall, I recently joined a nearby “fitness boutique” for a month after purchasing a   
     Groupon for it. I took some classes that completely kicked my butt, and I even rather enjoyed the experience overall. But, unfortunately, I could not afford their $28/class or $250/month of unlimited classes price tag. (Honestly, who are these people that can, because I need to know what they do for a living!) After letting a good three weeks pass after that Groupon expired, I decided it was time to get back out there. The jiggle is not going away on its own folks (if you know how to make that happen, please do let me know).

      Then low and behold, I discovered a gym near my work that is only $20/month. In New York City, this is completely amazing! On top of that, the day after discovering it, my friend forwarded me a Groupon for a $10 membership! And the best part about it—no commitments. Great, because as I told one of the instructors at the past fitness boutique when she asked if I’d be returning to her next class, “I’m not good with commitments.” Especially when it involves my not being lazy.

      After putting it off for about four days (thanks Krista for peer pressuring me by checking if I went every day!), I finally bit the bullet today and went. It was…interesting.

      First, the most frustrating part of working out in the City, versus near my apartment, is that I have to haul a big ole bag to work. When your commute is three miles of walking roundtrip, this is a pain! Literally. (My back is currently killing me as a result.) I tried my best to get it down to the essentials—travel sized toiletries, gym clothes, water bottle, shoes, and minimal makeup (what, like I’m going to get on the PATH train without any? Puh-lease.). The entire way to work, I’d already decided this would be the first and last time I did this. But don’t worry, cause it got worse.

      It turns out, for $10/month, you get what you pay for—starting with minimal staff. They were very friendly, I will grant them that. But when I went to sign up, there was only one guy manning the front desk. He was checking people in, taking phone calls, and attempting to sign me up all at the same time. He’d half type in my phone number or address, and then have to ask me to repeat it five minutes later because in came 20 people whose gym passes needed scanned.

      This brings me to the next thing—the people. For $10-20/month, seems lots of folks want to belong to this gym. That’s fine, except, this is why I hate gyms. I don’t want people. Go away people! I spent the full 30 minutes it to took to get me signed me up scoping the scene. You are all fit, I thought. You are all better at this than me. You will all be staring at my jiggly, out-of-shape ass in a minute. Why did I do this? Is it too late to back out? Once he finally gets me signed up, can I just walk out? I am in regular clothes. Maybe I never planned to workout today, okay. Maybe I just wanted to sign up. I do that, I leave, and nooo one is the wiser.

      “You’re all set.” Here it is. The moment of truth. Leave.
      “Which way to the locker rooms?” Idiot.

      Embarrassment commences. Again: keeping $20 in mind. There is a 5x5 space with lockers and benches for people to change at, about four showers, and about five bathroom stalls. First up, no one needs to see all of my jiggle, so I will be changing in a stall (yes, I’m that girl). And frankly, I don’t need to see your jiggle either, but thanks for sharing ladies (not). Into tiny stall I went.

       Second, I realize I do not have a lock for the locker. Sure hope people are trustworthy. I then proceed to squeeze my way through 30 naked ladies all squished up in the 5x5 space in an attempt to find an open locker. After 15 minutes of this and failing (fyi, many without locks were occupied, so guess I wasn't alone), I stand there like an idiot waiting for someone to leave while all 30 naked ladies stare at me like, “What’s this creeper doing?” Sorry! I just want your locker!

      Finally one opens up. I shove my stuff in and realize I now have to go face all of those people and actually work out. Stalling is over.

      I step outside and, too afraid to walk too far, I hop on the first treadmill I see available. It’s also an added bonus that it’s on the end, and no one is working out on the one side of it, so less people to look at me. Good, good. Music geared up, ready to go, start, walk, ah, look at me….

      Few seconds into this I realize I haven’t used a treadmill since college. It’s like riding a bike, right? No. This is me we are talking about. I am a klutz. I keep feeling the sensation like I’m going to trip at any minute. Don’t trip. Don’t fall. Looking up at T.V. Op, maybe don’t do that. Ok, you got this. Idiot. This is easy. You’re not gonna trip. La ti da, four minutes in, la ti da, pick up the pace, la ti da. Look at all those laps! At about this moment I realize that the view directly in front of me is of some guy’s ass, and suddenly, it hits me that someone behind me has a view of mine. Note to self: Wear longer shirts going forward. Really hope I don’t have hideous underwear lines right now. Ok, you’re being ridiculous. Seriously, I want to know if other people think this much while running? Isn’t this supposed to be enjoyable?

      As I look around me at the other folks working out, I start to realize something. No one has a towel. And I don’t recall seeing any in the locker rooms. Oh ma gawd, they don’t have towels. Oh ma gawd, I’m all sweaty, and I need to shower so I can go back on the PATH train like a normal, clean person rather than smelling like a hobo, and ohmagawd, what am I going to do?

      Thirty-two minutes, fairly decent run in, and off I go. Sweaty. To the locker room. To see? No towels! I ask a girl, embarrassingly, if they have them. “I don’t know, actually. I always bring my own.” Yeah, cause you’re smart! I ask the cleaning lady in the locker room. “No, sorry, we don’t.” (Again. Twenty dollars.) And, great. Sweaty gross girl with a problem.

      I’m not going to tell you about the creative methods I had to use to put myself in half-way decent, non-hobo shape. I’m just gonna say thank God I wore a dress today in order to air it all out on the way home!

      And that was gym day. I rewarded myself with some pasta and a glass half-full of wine. I cannot tell you if I’ll do it again. I was determined to—to prove my “this is going in the ‘Groupons you regret buying category’” friend wrong. But, I’m not sure even pride is worth repeating that for…

     P.S. Here it is--1 a.m. again. Safe to say working out didn't resolve my returned insomnia problem.